Cassastorm
Author: Alex J. Cavanaugh
Date: 2013-03-13 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: From the Amazon Best Selling Series! A storm gathers across the galaxy… Byron thought he’d put the days of battle behind him. Commanding the Cassan base on Tgren, his only struggles are occasional rogue pirate raids and endless government bureaucracies. As a galaxy-wide war encroaches upon the desert planet, Byron’s ideal life is threatened and he’s caught between the Tgrens and the Cassans. After enemy ships attack the desert planet, Byron discovers another battle within his own family. The declaration of war between all ten races triggers nightmares in his son, shaking Bassan to the core and
Publisher: Dancing Lemur Press

by Alex J. Cavanaugh

"CassaStorM is a touching and mesmerising space opera full of action and emotion with strong characters and a cosmic mystery."

- Edi's Book Lighthouse

“Cavanaugh makes world building on the galactic scale look easy. The stakes affect the entire known universe and yet Cavanaugh makes it intensely personal for our hero. The final installment of this series will break your heart and put it back together.”

- Charity Bradford, science fantasy author of The Magic Wakes

“With a talent for worldbuilding and a compelling cast of characters, Alex J. Cavanaugh combines high powered space battles and the challenges of family dynamics to provide readers a space opera with heart.”

- Elizabeth S. Craig, author of the Southern Quilting and Myrtle Clover mysteries

“I thought the revelation was going to be one thing and I was completely wrong … CassaStorm pushes the limits…”

- Tyson Mauermann, Speculative Reviews

“…mesmerizing story of survival, personal sacrifice, tolerance, and compassion.  It’s a rare jewel that successfully utilizes both character and plot to tell a story of such immense scope and intimate passion…”

- Nancy S. Thompson, author of The Mistaken

"An exciting, nail-biting read which sweeps the reader off on adventures in another galaxy."

- Nicua Shamira, Terraveru

“Cavanaugh creates such an unforgettable world, and these characters will stay with you long after their story is over.”

- Cassie Mae, author of Friday Night Alibi and How to Date a Nerd

“…the racial conflicts propelled much of the plot in this story, driving home a message that's relevant to our own world and giving the book an interesting texture.”

- C. Lee. McKenzie, author of Alligators Overhead

“Cavanaugh has created wonderfully moving moments of great poignancy… CassaStorm could have been a dark story full of hardship and angst, but instead it's a cleverly balanced story about hope and triumph.”

- Lynda R. Young, author of Make Believe

Also by Alex J. Cavanaugh:

CassaStar

“…calls to mind the youthful focus of Robert Heinlein’s early military sf, as well as the excitement of space opera epitomized by the many Star Wars novels. Fast-paced military action and a youthful protagonist make this a good choice for both young adult and adult fans of space wars.”

- Library Journal

CassaFire

“…delivers on the promise of its predecessor, combining military action sequences and political intrigue with strong, memorable characters. Reminiscent of the action-driven stories of Robert A. Heinlein's early fiction…” - Library Journal

Copyright 2013 by Alex J. Cavanaugh

Published by Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C.

P.O. Box 383, Pikeville, North Carolina, 27863-0383
www.dancinglemurpress.com

ISBN: 9781939844019

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form – either mechanically, electronically, photocopy, recording, or other – except for short quotations in printed reviews, without the permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover design by C.R.W.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Cavanaugh, Alex J.

CassaStorm / Alex J. Cavanaugh.

p. cm.

ISBN 9781939844019

1. Space travel --Fiction. 2. Outer space –Exploration --Fiction. 3. Teleportation --Fiction. 4. Psychokinesis--Fiction. 5. Father-son relationship --Fiction. 6. Family --Fiction. 7. Science fiction. I. Title

PS3553.A964 C38 2013

[Fic] --dd23                                                                                       2013934525

To the readers and the dreamers
and the friends I’ve made along the way.

Byron’s journey would never have come this far
without your support and encouragement!

Contents

- Title Page

- Also by Alex J. Cavanaugh:

- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen

- About The Author

Chapter One

The war had escalated.

‘Narcon and Vindicarn forces have entered sector 118-326. The Fesell continue to lay claim to sectors 118-325 and 119-325. Numerous skirmishes reported.’

Leaning away from the screen, Byron brought a hand to his forehead. Enemy forces drew closer every day, gaining in numbers. It was only a matter of time before the Cassans entered the war. After this latest advancement, it might happen as soon as today.

The Tgrens won’t be happy about this development, he thought, arching his neck to relieve the tension in his muscles.

Byron noticed an available feed from the latest encounter. He entered his code and waited for clearance.

One of those rare moments I get to enjoy the perks of my position, he thought.

The visual appeared on his screen. A scrolling transcript ran across the bottom, and from the exchange, Byron surmised the recording originated from the squadron leader’s ship. The view past the nose of the Cosbolt displayed only stars and the depth of space. The fighter altered position and a fleet of Narcon vessels dominated the scene. The narrow ships hung like bright stars in the vastness of space. The squadron leader sent a message back to his flagship, the Darentor.

At least it wasn’t the Vindicarn and their damn disrupters, Byron thought, leaning closer to the screen. The Tgren medical facility had received enough mentally damaged pilots and navigators of late.

The transcript displayed the squadron leader’s instructions as his ships approached the Narcon. He called for caution and restraint but did not order a direct attack. The enemy fighters maintained their position, hanging silent in the depths of space. Time appeared frozen as neither race made a move.

Without provocation, the Narcon opened fire on the Cosbolts. The squadron leader held his position, providing a stable observation point. Byron ignored the verbal feed and focused on the ensuing battle. The smaller, dart-shaped Narcon fighters ripped through the ranks of stout, rounded Cosbolts. Laser fire flew in every direction, flashing bright against the blackness of space. Two Narcon ships exploded and a Cosbolt spun out of view, stirring memories in Byron. He’d never faced the Narcon, but their aggressive tactics and movements reminded him of the Vindicarn.

Skirmishes my ass, he thought, scowling at the image.

Changing computer screens, he sent a message to his Tgren liaison officer. Byron wanted to know the current mindset of the local prefect before broaching the subject of intergalactic war. Relations between the planet’s natives and the Cassans were healthy, but the Tgrens still resisted outside involvement. Byron understood their neutral position, as they’d yet to venture into space, but the attitude concerned him.

What will you do if this war appears at your door? I don’t think the Vindicarn will care about your neutrality, he thought.

He punched the keypad and retrieved the week’s flight schedule. If the skirmishes continued to shift closer to Tgren, Ktren’s base would be called into action. His Cosbolt squadrons needed to prepare for a battle greater than the occasional rogue pirate raid.

Satisfied with the schedule, Byron made a mental note to speak with his squadron commander. The simulators still contained Vindicarn flight patterns, and he wanted all Cosbolt teams to brush up on their skills.

I’ll need the training as well, he thought. It’s been years since I faced the Vindicarn.

Pushing his chair away from the desk, he rose to his feet. Several joints popped in protest. Byron winced at the sound.

“You sit too damn much,” he grumbled, snatching an empty glass from his desk.

Lifting a crystal pitcher from the thin table to his left, he refilled the glass. Byron downed half of the water, letting the last swallow rest on his tongue for a moment. The Cassan facility was cool and comfortable, but no amount of climate control could replace the lack of moisture. The dry desert air invaded every fiber of his body.

Lowering the glass to his side, Byron stared at the large map covering the side wall of his office. A gift from the previous prefect, the sturdy parchment showed signs of deterioration. The edges now curled and the sandy colored surface had faded with time. The section directly in front of him boasted new cracks and he frowned. Byron doubted the current prefect would be willing to supply a replacement map.

His gaze shifted to the largest land mass just above the equator. Two tiny dots, nestled in between mountains and a river, marked the placement of the Cassan base and the city of Ktren. Byron’s fingers tightened around his glass. If not for the alien ruins buried within the surrounding mountains, only one dot would mark the map.

Something the Council of Prefects is so fond of reminding me, he thought. If the Vindicarn invade your planet, you’ll be damned grateful we’re here.

A gentle beep from the door panel announced a visitor. At the same time, a familiar presence touched his mind.

Byron returned to his desk and set down the glass. Enter!

The door slid open, ushering in a light breeze from the hall. He remained standing as his Tgren liaison officer approached, computer tablet in hand. She came to a halt and offered a proper salute before assuming a causal pose. Byron nodded, noting the playfulness in her thoughts. Straightening his shoulders, he offered his most authoritative scowl, determined to remain in control of this meeting.

“Sir, you realize you just pulled me from a very important council meeting regarding this year’s rtrax harvest,” she said, arching one eyebrow. “I’m going to miss the heated debate over the amount of fuel required to complete the task in a timely fashion.”

Her sarcasm bordered on the ridiculous and Byron’s composure slipped. Trust his mate to see the humor in every situation.

“I know how much you enjoy hearing the council bicker over fuel consumption,” he said, allowing a smile to tug at his lips.

Athee rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, fascinating. Jabbering fools! I’d rather harvest rtrax by hand than listen to them argue.”

Byron glanced at his computer screen. His thoughts returned to the purpose for their meeting.

“Well, let me show you something that will interest you,” he said, gesturing for Athee to sit in the closest chair.

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.

Get up here before you hurt yourself, the boy thought, yanking Bassan forward.

Propelled with great force to the front, Bassan’s feet barely had time to catch up with his body. He regained his composure and gasped as he caught sight of the pod room. The capsules emitted a vibrant, green glow, symbolic of the life they once carried. Bassan swore he could see the lights pulsating like a heartbeat. The numerous rows stretched far into the darkness.

There are thousands, he thought, shielding so only the boy who’d pulled him to the front could hear.

My father said there are fifty rows of a hundred and each one carried a person.

Tearing his gaze from the glow of the pods, Bassan glanced at his friend. Drent’s eyebrows were raised and he offered a brief nod. Upon hearing Officer Mevine clear his throat, both boys turned their attention to the senior science officer.

“When this ship launched from its point of origin, each capsule carried an embryo,” said Officer Mevine, his voice no longer strained. “The capsules were filled with a liquid that provided oxygen and nutrition, and they were monitored by computers located in the control room.

“From our calculations, the people inside the capsules were almost adults when the ship arrived on Tgren. They were released and exited the ship through a supply room located at the far end.”

Officer Mevine pointed toward a corner of the room that lay shrouded in darkness. Bassan let his gaze wander across the room. He could almost see the thousands of confused Tgrens staggering on shaky legs to the beckoning exit. How strange the desert landscape of this world must’ve appeared to eyes that had only viewed the darkness of sleep.

“Are there any questions?” said Officer Mevine.

“Sir, what was in the supply room?” someone asked.

Officer Mevine straightened his thin frame, clasping his hands behind his back. “According to the records we’ve deciphered, the supply room contained basic clothing, food, water, and simple tools required for survival on this planet.”

That makes sense, Bassan thought.

“Officer Mevine, how did they know how to use those items?” a girl to his right asked. “Wouldn’t they have been like a newborn baby? Helpless?”

Bassan’s position placed him within close proximity of Officer Mevine, and he sensed a surge of excitement from Drent’s father. The science officer smiled and lifted his chin even higher.

“Every person’s brain was connected to a computer that fed them information over the duration of the trip. They were taught behavior, motor skills, language, and the basics they needed to function, survive, and procreate.”

A ripple of humor arose in those closest to Bassan. He ignored their childish thoughts. If the occupants of the pods were fed information, how did the data come to them? Were visuals involved?

“Did they dream?”

Bassan realized he’d spoken aloud. Clenching his fists at his sides, he berated himself for his impulsive words. A wave of ridicule from his classmates caused Bassan to shield his thoughts. Why had he asked such a stupid question?

Officer Mevine smiled and stepped closer. “They probably did dream, Bassan. That would’ve been the most logical means for inserting information into the brain.”

Buoyed by the answer, Bassan smiled in triumph. Drent’s father had just validated his idea in front of everyone.

You have a good idea now and then, Drent thought.

Bassan nudged his friend. I have lots of good ideas.

They were permitted ten more minutes to ask questions before their instructor announced it was time to visit the engine room. Disappointment tugged at Bassan’s chest. After viewing the pods, he had no desire to look at the ship’s propulsion system. He wanted to know more about the pods and the computers that controlled the capsules. If there really was a way to implant dreams into one’s mind…

I wish we could stay, he thought.

Drent had turned to follow the others to the exit, but he paused. Casting a suspicious look at Bassan, Drent’s eyes narrowed. Bassan offered his most pleading expression, hoping to win over his friend and buy a little more time in the presence of the pods.

You really want to stay? Drent thought.

A tingle of excitement ran down Bassan’s spine. Yes!

His friend stared at Bassan, his scrutiny indicating he was mulling over the idea. Bassan caught his breath, afraid Drent would brush off his request as nothing more than childish. He’d always tried to keep up with Drent, aware of the two years separating them in age. Bassan didn’t want to appear immature or unworthy of his friend’s time. Few shared their mixed heritage of Cassan and Tgren. Without Drent, Bassan’s list of friends would be very short.

Drent lifted his chin and turned toward the senior science officer. “Father? Bassan would really like to see more of the pod room. It’s his latest obsession. Can we stay here with you?”

Officer Mevine’s gaze shifted to the doorway. Transferring weight from one foot to the other, the science officer rubbed his fingers on his thighs in an uneven rhythm. Bassan held his breath as Officer Mevine’s attention returned to the boys. No words were exchanged, but he sensed a private conversation between father and son.

Please let him say yes, he thought.

Drent’s father frowned and Bassan prepared for disappointment. Officer Mevine’s head jerked toward the doorway and he snapped his fingers. “Officer Tarcon, a word with you?”

Bassan grinned at Drent. I don’t know what you told him, but it worked!

I just used the magic words.

What words?

The commander’s son.

Bassan’s stomach sank. Why did you have to say that? You know I don’t like to use my father’s rank.

Well, you should learn to use it more often! Drent crossed his arms, his scowl penetrating the hair hanging across his face. We’ll always be the odd ones out. We have to use every advantage we can get.

His friend’s accusation caused Bassan to take a step backward. He didn’t have long to ponder Drent’s words, though. Officer Mevine rejoined them, bringing a hand down on each boy’s shoulder.

“Your instructor has given permission for you to remain here under my supervision. Officer Tarcon will retrieve you when your class finishes with the engine room.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Bassan.

“Well, I appreciate your enthusiasm,” said Officer Mevine, patting his shoulder. “This has been one of our greatest discoveries. We’ve learned so much from the computers that controlled these capsules.”

“Sir, may I see them? The computers I mean?”

Drent’s father nodded. “I don’t see why not. This way.”

Bassan and Drent followed Officer Mevine out of the room. Pausing in the doorway, Bassan scanned the rows of pods one last time. Thousands of people, all lost in a dream…

Come on! thought Drent.

Pumping his shorter legs, Bassan caught up with his friend. Officer Mevine turned right and vanished. Bassan expected another room but discovered an ascending hallway. The slope was gentle but he still had to hustle to keep up with Drent. They reached a landing and Officer Mevine paused before continuing up the next ramp.

“I’m coming, sir,” Bassan said, determined to keep up. “Sir, do you really think our ancestors dreamed while in the pods?”

“Dreams and more. Their brains processed information and increased in knowledge during the trip to Tgren.”

Blue rings of light guided them up the ramp toward a brighter light and Bassan’s excitement grew. None of his classmates could claim they’d seen the pod’s computer system!

They reached the next level and the tunnel turned again before opening into a large room. Bassan noticed several open doorways to his left and eyed them with curiosity. He almost ran into Drent and had to regain his footing as he sidestepped his friend. Now facing the right side of the room, Bassan discovered a more interesting view.

“This is the master control room for the capsules below,” said Officer Mevine, gesturing toward a line of alien consoles.

The hair on Bassan’s arms rose. The numerous, crescent-shaped consoles lined a glass wall, their glowing lights bathing the long room in a glittering array of colors. Large screens flashed in rapid succession, their data changing in the blink of an eye. Beyond the consoles lay the most incredible view. Bassan gasped as he realized the computer room overlooked the endless rows of pods.

“Each console controls a different aspect,” Officer Mevine said, moving to the nearest computer. “Life support, physical growth, mental input—everything was programmed and controlled from this very room.”

Eager to hear and see more, Bassan moved to the science officer’s side. He glanced down the row of consoles, noting other officers present in the room. Their wary glances indicated recognition of the commander’s son. Feeling uneasy, Bassan’s attention shifted to the control panel in front of him.

“This one was programmed to monitor and control basic life support,” said Drent’s father. His fingers touched a corner of the screen. The images ceased to fly by in rapid succession. Bassan peered at the alien calculations now displayed.

“This displayed the oxygen count in the subject’s blood stream.”

Bassan listened with interest as Officer Mevine ran through the various systems. The images on the screen made no sense. He certainly couldn’t read the alien language or understand the information. He wanted to learn one day though.

Still focused on the science officer’s words, Bassan scanned the console. The crescent screen was angled for easy viewing, although he had to stretch on his toes to see the screen. It was the framework that caught his attention. It appeared to be crystal-like stone rather than metal. Bassan lifted his hand to touch it and then snapped his arms behind his back. He knew better than to touch anything, especially with Officer Mevine present.

When Drent’s father reached for the far side of the screen, Bassan stepped aside. His view no longer blocked by the console, he found himself staring down at the glowing pods. The rows of rounded capsules, their green lights pulsating with energy, mesmerized him. What was it like the day all of those pods opened? Thousands of people, caught for years in a dream, all gaining consciousness in one moment. Every dream had dissolved as those people experienced real life for the very first time…

“Bassan?”

The sound of his name snapped Bassan back to reality. He looked up and discovered Officer Mevine staring at him.

“Sir?” he said, his voice cracking.

“Did you have any questions?”

“No, sir,” he said, responding out of habit. Bassan caught himself, feeling foolish for his inane reply. “I mean, yes sir. Did the computer tell the people what to do when they awoke?”

The science officer rested a hand atop the console. “We believe it gave them instructions. We surmised that the alien race wanted the people to begin their new life and with as little recollection of this ship as possible. They most likely awoke with a strong urge to gather supplies and exit the vessel. Considering their confused state, it’s no surprise Tgren’s ancestors forgot this ship once they set foot on the surface.”

“Except in their dreams,” Bassan mused, his gaze traveling to the view out the window.

“Father, you said the Tgren’s language was programmed into their minds as well?” said Drent.

“The first Tgrens were given a complex, working language, unique to their race.”

Bassan looked up at the science officer. “But similar to our own?” he said.

“The dialects are different, but the Cassan language is the most similar of the known races.”

“So are we the same race?”

Officer Mevine stepped away from the console, his chin dropping to his chest. “There are minor differences. We share a similar physical structure—”

“An alien race could’ve seeded the Cassan world as well?”

“No ancient alien ship has been discovered on Cassa—”

“But that doesn’t mean we aren’t from the same race, does it?”

Officer Mevine’s brows came together and Bassan sucked in his breath. He’d interrupted the senior officer. Not once, but twice. He knew better. Father would be so angry.

The science officer’s left hand came down on Bassan’s shoulder. He trembled and prepared for a reprimand. Officer Mevine placed his right hand on Drent’s neck and pulled the boys closer. Leaning down, the science officer placed his face within inches of Bassan’s face.

“You boys are proof that Cassans and Tgrens possess a similar heritage,” Officer Mevine said, his voice as soft as his expression. “Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to establish that fact in the records once and for all. But our genetic codes aren’t identical. And until a similar alien ship is discovered on Cassa, a common ancestry will never be accepted by the general population of either race.”

Pulling his thin lips into a smile, the science officer thumped their backs. “But who knows? Perhaps you are the beginning of a new race? Your abilities just might surpass that of either Tgrens or Cassans.”

Those words shot straight into Bassan’s heart. He and Drent weren’t freaks, but a new race? His imagination ran wild with the possibilities.

And what if Cassans and Tgrens weren’t the only races to merge? he thought, excited by the idea of other half-breeds. What if there are more of us? A lot more?

“Officer Mevine?”

Releasing Bassan and Drent, the science officer straightened his frame. “Yes?”

Bassan stepped aside as an officer moved to Mevine’s side, computer tablet in hand. His attention shifted and he stole another glance at the glowing pods. Edging closer to the glass, he stared at the capsules. The Tgrens were a seeded race, but what if they weren’t alone? What if they did discover a similar alien ship on Cassa?

“Boys, this requires my attention,” said Officer Mevine, cutting into Bassan’s thoughts. “Wait for me by the tunnel.”

Drent grabbed Bassan’s arm. Choking on a protest, Bassan let his friend drag him away from the window overlooking the pods.

At least you got to come up here!

Bassan stared at his friend, annoyed with himself. His thoughts were far too transparent. I know. I just wanted to look at the pods a little longer.

Why? Drent crossed his arms and wrinkled his nose.

I just do! I want to know what went through those people’s minds.

You want to climb into a capsule and find out?

Yes, I would.

Noting Drent’s condescending expression, Bassan turned away. He hated it when others mocked his ideas. What was wrong with wanting to experience the pods firsthand? Maybe he’d find a connection with the people who were his ancestors.

He now faced the three open doorways. Bassan peered into the closest room. It contained a computer console similar to those lining the far wall. Something was unusual, though. The frame appeared larger and displayed a static screen. Curious as to why this console boasted no activity, Bassan stepped through the open doorway.

What are you doing? Drent thought, seizing his elbow.

I just want a closer look, thought Bassan, shaking off his friend’s strong grip. The panel’s faint lights beckoned him closer.

When I said use every advantage we can get, I didn’t mean like this!

I’m just looking.

My father only allowed me in this room with supervision.

Bassan hesitated. You’ve been up here before?

Drent dropped his hands to his side. Well, of course I have. My father brought me here shortly after they discovered the control room.

Frustration rose in Bassan’s chest. He never accompanied his father on assignments. Sheltered by his parents, Bassan never got to experience anything. Feeling defiant, he decided that would change right now.

Hovering near the console, he examined the large screen. Set in a grid pattern, its green lines glowed much softer than the other screens. A set of eleven symbols pulsated at the top, the orange glow a sharp contrast to the green. Bassan stood on his toes to get a closer view.

What does it say? he thought, resting his fingers on the lower edge of the console. The casing felt cool to the touch.

My father said they haven’t deciphered it yet, Drent thought, moving to his side.

Disappointed by the answer, Bassan’s gaze dropped to a metallic ball protruding from the console’s casing. Residing just inches from his fingers, the shine of the orb enticed him closer. Sliding his hand along the console’s edge, Bassan poised his index finger to touch the surface. A hand on his shoulder startled him and Bassan froze.

Come on! My father will be angry if he catches us in here, thought Drent.

With reluctance, Bassan stepped away from the console but didn’t relinquish his hold. Drent’s hand lifted from his shoulder and Bassan caught his breath. His fingers were beside the ball. He was so close. This might be his only opportunity to experience something new. Ignoring the voice of reason that screamed in his head, Bassan grasped the metallic orb.

A jolt of energy shot through his fingertips. It travelled up his arm to his brain. Images flashed through his mind at a rapid pace, blinding in their intensity. The console in front of him was lost as the vivid array raced through his head. Frightened and confused, Bassan opened his mouth to cry out for help. Before he could utter a sound, the kaleidoscope ended. He gasped at the sudden void.

What did you do? Drent demanded, his thought pounding at Bassan’s temples.

Releasing the ball, Bassan dropped his hand. He stared at the console in confusion. Its screen had not altered and the green grid gave no indication of what had just occurred.

“What are you boys doing in here?”

Spinning on his heels, Bassan discovered Officer Mevine in the doorway. He shielded his mind, fearful Drent’s father would hear his thoughts.

“Sorry, Father,” said Drent. “We were just looking at the screen.”

The science officer stared hard at the boys, his lips pressed together. “This console has not been accessed yet and is off limits. Come on, I have one more computer to show you before your instructor returns.”

The boys followed Officer Mevine from the room. Bassan glanced back at the console, relieved the screen revealed no sign of tampering. He couldn’t recall any of the images that had raced through his mind. Had he dreamed the whole experience?

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Bassan only half listened as Officer Mevine explained the growth programming of the pods’ occupants. Bassan’s fingers still tingled. He kept his hand behind his back and hoped no one noticed the compulsive wiggling. He shouldn’t have touched that ball.

Relief flooded his mind when Officer Mevine escorted the boys from the room. As they descended through the tunnel to the main level, he recalled his father’s warning.

The one time he didn’t tell me not to touch something, I touched something, he thought, his shoulders drooping farther with every step. Damn, I am in so much trouble!

“Enemy targets in sector 120-320,” Byron announced over the com. “Defense positions only. No one is to engage unless I give the order.”

Athee adjusted her screen, calculating the exact position of the battle. The enemy occupied the space beyond Tgren’s moon, hiding in its shadow. Two Cassan flagships also occupied that space. She relayed the information to her pilot.

Sounds like the Nacinta’s fighters have it under control, he thought. We’ll set up a perimeter around Tgren.

Her mate’s calm mental state settled her nerves. Drawing from his confidence, Athee ran through her prelaunch checklist. Satisfied all systems operated at top efficiency, she confirmed the readiness of their Cosbolt. The hangar chief gave the signal and Athee piloted the ship across the hangar. The fighter entered the launch tube and awaited launch sequence.

Pressing her head against the back of her seat, Athee reached out to Bassan. We’ll be back shortly, she thought, adding a loving caress to her mental connection.

He doesn’t need to know what’s happening, Byron thought, punctuating his response with a trace of irritation.

He heard the alarm. Bassan worries when we fly into battle, Athee thought, flexing her fingers around the throttle. He’s only ten, but our son knows we could both die.

Not today!

The countdown commenced over the com. Athee closed her eyes. Clenching her teeth, she prepared for the jolt of acceleration.

The enemy is finally at our doorstep, she thought, her stomach sinking.

The countdown ended. On cue, the Cosbolt’s engines roared louder than a desert storm. Athee’s body pressed even harder into the seat as the fighter raced forward. Sight wasn’t a requirement. The image of the launch tube walls racing past at a blinding speed lay ingrained in her memory. She counted instead, ticking off the three brief seconds until the Cosbolt emerged from the launch tube.

One, two, three!

She opened her eyes. The warm glow of Tgren’s sun greeted Athee. Her shoulders sagged and she released the throttle. They’d made it.

We haven’t had a launch tube mishap in almost eighteen years, Byron thought. Despite the amount of times he’d reminded her, Athee’s mate didn’t sound annoyed.

I know, Athee thought, convincing herself as much as her pilot. A freak accident, it always resided in the back of Athee’s mind during launches.  That wasn’t how she wanted to die. After all these years, she still preferred an open runway to a launch tube.

Shoving the memory from her mind, she checked the controls and relayed the position of the other fighters to Byron. They circled once, waiting for all six squadrons to join them. Athee perceived his growing impatience and kept her thoughts neutral. Byron needed to focus on the situation at hand. This was more serious than any rogue pirate attack. She couldn’t even recall the last time they’d led all six squadrons into battle.

The final Cosbolts took their positions and Byron passed assignments to the squadron leaders. Athee listened, calculating their placement. Her mate wanted as much of Tgren’s surface covered from space as possible.

We’ll maintain a stationary position, he thought, his words directed at his navigator.

Athee had already computed the squadrons’ flight patterns and selected a strategic location for their ship. The moment the coordinates formed in her mind, Byron signified he was ready to jump.

Locking with his mind, they touched the teleporter. Only the pilot’s abilities were required to jump the ship, but their connection as mates meant Athee was always involved. She tapped into the depths of her mind, the energy coiling like a desert snake ready to strike. There was a surge of potency as the unit absorbed the power of two minds.

Jump!

Her thoughts locked on the coordinates, Athee brought the ship to the precise location over Tgren. Tapping her fingers, she expanded her view to include the battle beyond Tgren’s moon. Two Cassan flagships were in position, including the Nacinta. Two other large vessels were present, their ominous shapes dominating her screen. Ignoring the mammoth ships, she zoomed closer. The smaller fighters were of greater interest to Athee.

Vindicarn and Narcon, Byron thought, no trace of emotion in his tone.

Athee scanned the multitude of fighters engaged in combat, noting the position of those on the fringes of the action. Tapped into her thoughts, Byron saw what she saw. She heard him send orders to his squadron leaders, informing them of the scope of the fight. His greatest concern lay with stray ships jumping to escape the heat of battle. Hiding behind Tgren’s moon would place enemy ships too close to the planet.

Watch for the disrupters. They aren’t as powerful as those used forty years ago, but they still make the Vindicarn dangerous. Look sharp and attack from below. I am not losing anyone to a disrupter blast today.

Byron’s words sent a chill down Athee’s spine. She glanced up from her screen and scanned the open space outside the ship’s canopy. Athee swallowed, her tongue dry in her mouth.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t hear his every thought. As long as it took me to convince him not to shield me from his mind though, I’m not about to make him change, she thought. Her attention returned to the screen.

Keep an eye on the battle, Byron thought. Watch for ships that jump but don’t reappear. Vindicarn teleporters are designed for long range jumps, which means they could jump right in front of us. Or worse, on the other side of Tgren.

Check!

Athee stared at the screen with renewed intensity. Ships jumped in and out with regularity, and she didn’t bother to follow the signals of those fighters. Only Cassan ships possessed the ability to perform short range jumps. Neither the Vindicarn nor Narcons had mastered the technology required to perform short, rapid teleportation jumps. Reserving their power for long range jumps involving multiple ships, the Vindicarn were a formidable enemy in space. She’d heard enough stories from Byron of entire squadrons appearing out of nowhere to appreciate his concerns today.

Byron continued to coordinate with his squadron leaders. Athee drew strength from his calm state of mind. Her mate possessed many years of experience and understood their enemy better than any other pilot. As she watched the fighters on her screen, Athee wondered if any of the other teams were veterans of the Vindicarn War. She doubted many outside of Byron had experienced the event, now forty years past.

Six ships on the edge of the foray vanished. Athee’s muscles tightened and she shot a warning to her pilot. Before she’d completed her thought, Byron began relaying the information to his squadron leaders. She held her breath, resisting the urge to look out the canopy.

There!

Athee caught the images in Byron’s mind. Six narrow fighters now crossed far below them. The closest squadron descended to intercept. The enemy changed direction as the Vindicarn reacted to the unexpected appearance of Cosbolts.

Continue scanning the battle, Byron thought.

As ordered, Athee concentrated on her screen. She couldn’t follow two battles, despite the vivid images in his head invading her mind.

Another group vanished from view. Seven more! she thought.

They know we’re here. Relay that information to the Nacinta.

Athee complied, using the com to inform the Nacinta of the developing situation over Tgren. The response was not unexpected.

“Maintain your current position. We’ll send reinforcements if more enemy vessels appear.”

We can hold our own for now, Byron thought.

A flash of light in the distance caught Athee’s attention. Two squadrons were engaging the enemy, and judging from the color of the explosion, a Vindicarn ship had just met its demise. Sensing no concern from Byron, her gaze returned to her computer screen.

No further ships vanished from view. Her mate’s impatience grew, though. Byron never enjoyed playing the spectator and Athee didn’t blame him. Commander or not, he was still a fighter pilot at heart.

Avoid those disrupters! he thought, his warning loud in Athee’s head.

News that one of their fighters was out of commission due to wing damage blasted from the com unit. Athee barely had time to process the information as an announcement of a disrupter blast taking out a navigator followed on its heels. Byron’s fury sent pinpricks across her scalp.

We’re engaging, he thought, powering the ship forward.

Adjusting her screen with haste, Athee assessed the situation. She had just enough time to relay the information to her pilot before they were on the tail of an enemy ship. Athee announced their intentions to the nearest Cosbolt teams.

Scanning the area, Athee concentrated on her duties, allowing Byron to do what he did best. Warning him of a Cassan fighter below them, she felt their ship adjust position. Banking to the left, their Cosbolt dove. Athee kept her eyes on the target, her mind locked with her mate’s so he would see what she saw. They came up under the Vindicarn ship at full speed. Byron fired once and the spider-like vessel exploded.

Attack from below, Byron thought, his command broadcasting to every pilot.

Their ship shot over the debris, the residue spreading into a fine dust. Athee did not bother to look out at the remains of the enemy vessel.

Next target.

Noting an enemy ship in pursuit of a Cosbolt to their left, Athee selected that skirmish as the most pressing. Before she could relay the plan to her pilot, Byron altered course. They could not catch the pair at their present speed though. She suggested jumping below and matching their speed.

Below and head on, he thought. Double jump.

Relaying their intentions even as she visualized the coordinates, Athee clutched the throttle. Recalling only Byron controlled the craft, she eased her hold.

Old habits die hard, she thought.

Locking with his mind, she joined Byron in performing the teleportation jump. The Vindicarn ship appeared overhead and Byron fired once. Latching onto new coordinates as the enemy ship exploded, Athee led them in the jump to safety.

Looking out the canopy, she relaxed her death grip on the throttle. Rapid, successive jumps relied heavy on her ability to navigate. While she never doubted her abilities, Athee always experienced pressure.

Update!

Athee made a quick assessment of remaining enemy ships. Seven targets eliminated, she thought, zeroing in on the closest Vindicarn fighter.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Byron pursued the vessel. Athee calculated the best approach and their Cosbolt dove to the right. The ship moved into position for an underside attack. Athee held her breath as he fired. In a flash, the Vindicarn fighter vanished.

Athee realized all enemy ships had disappeared. They’ve retreated, she thought, switching her screen to view the main battle. Almost on cue, five ships appeared near the large Vindicarn vessel.

Squadrons assume formation! Byron thought. Full damage report.

Gritting her teeth, Athee tried to concentrate on the distant battle. The responses from the six squadron leaders were silenced, but she couldn’t block Byron’s voice. Biting her lip, she listened to her mate’s replies. Athee lowered her head and sighed when she heard no mention of casualties. Three damaged Cosbolts and one team out of commission due to a disrupter blast didn’t sit well with Byron, though.

Every squadron will undergo extra Vindicarn combat simulation this week, he thought, his mental voice laced with anger. I will not have a repeat of today’s sloppy execution.

Athee adjusted her position, easing the pressure on her sore buttocks. She didn’t envy the pilots and navigators under Byron’s command. Twenty years with the man had reinforced his low tolerance for mistakes. It was a quality inherited from his mentor, now many years gone from this life.

I assume that means additional simulator drills for us as well? she thought. Byron never demanded anything of his men that he wasn’t willing to do.

We must be ready. Today was your first Vindicarn encounter. It’s been years since I faced this enemy. We need the practice as much as the squadrons.

Agreed.

She continued to monitor the main battle. When the enemy fighters thinned and the two larger vessels pulled back, Athee informed her pilot. Byron maintained their defensive position until a full retreat was confirmed by the Nacinta. He ordered Squadron Five to remain on patrol while the others returned to base for a full debriefing.

The younger pilots have much to learn about fighting the Vindicarn and Narcon, he thought in a private message to Athee.

Upon landing on Tgren, Athee reached out for her son’s mind. We’re back on the surface now.

Are you all right?

Athee closed her eyes, moved by the concern in her son’s mental voice. We’re fine. We still have to go to a debriefing and then deal with reports. I don’t know when we’ll be finished, so go home with Drent.

Yes, Mother.

Athee’s head listed to the side, her energy spent. At least Bassan had someplace safe to go. It wasn’t the first time Andra had taken care of Athee’s son while they were away. She owed Mevine’s mate a world of gratitude.

Between the debriefing, meetings, and reports, it was several hours past the evening meal before she and Byron left the main facility. Athee’s feet drug across the sand as they made their way up the slope to their home. The day had exhausted her on every level. Her one saving grace resided in the fact she was the commander’s navigator. Byron’s stern words during the debriefing and various conferences didn’t include her.

“Let’s get cleaned up before we send for Bassan,” he said as they entered their dwelling.

Byron let her shower and change first as he continued reading reports on the day’s events. She went through the motions, her thoughts split between a quick and easy meal and their son. It comforted her to know Bassan had already eaten. She hoped he’d attended to his studies as well.

Before Byron finished in the bathroom, Athee sent for Bassan. She suspected Byron preferred to eat first, but she didn’t want to impose upon Mevine’s family any longer than necessary. Her son arrived within minutes, bursting through the main door in dramatic fashion. His chest heaved and his cheeks appeared flushed from his exertions.

“Did you run all the way home?” said Athee, setting the warmed bowl of soup that would serve as their meal on the table.

Yes! Bassan thought, dropping his computer tablet on the counter.

Athee was about to ask if he’d eaten when her son’s arms wrapped around her middle. Her body flooded with warmth and she returned his embrace with equal enthusiasm. She hoped Bassan would never outgrow his genuine and loving nature.

“We’re all right,” said Athee, kissing the top of his head.

Bassan broke free, his hands sliding into hers. “I overheard Drent’s father mention Vindicarn fighters to his mother.”

Squeezing his hands, Athee nodded. “We faced the Vindicarn and Narcon today.”

“Over Tgren?”

“Two Cassan flagships engaged battle cruisers from both the Vindicarn and Narcon in our solar system,” she said, choosing her words with care. She never lied to Bassan, but Athee did not want to cause unnecessary panic in her son. “A few Vindicarn fighters jumped close to Tgren, but we were ready for them.”

Bassan’s grasp on her fingers tightened. “They were coming here?”

“No, they were just jumping away from the main battle for a moment and didn’t realize we were waiting.”

“But what if more come?”

Releasing one of his hands, Athee ran her fingers through his hair. She touched his mind and tried to sooth his troubled thoughts. If more come, we will fight to defend Tgren.

“We won’t fight alone, either.”

Turning to face her mate, she shot him a puzzled look. Byron approached them, his fingers adjusting his fresh shirt.

“Another flagship, the Litheron, will arrive tomorrow. Three Cassan flagships should discourage them from getting too close to Tgren,” he said.

Bassan’s fingers slipped from hers, and he moved toward his father. Byron’s arms dropped to his side and he looked down at his son. Without speaking, Bassan reached for one of his father’s hands. They stared at each other for a moment, and Athee waited for her mate’s reaction. Byron was tired and hungry, his mind preoccupied. He handled their son better after an hour or two of relaxation time. To her surprise, he smiled and tousled Bassan’s hair.

“If the Vindicarn come anywhere near Tgren, they won’t know what hit them,” Byron said.

“Did you shoot any today?” said Bassan, bouncing on his toes.

“I’ll tell you about it before you go to bed. Right now I need some food in me.”

Athee retrieved two bowls, a smile on her face. Her mate had handled that well. Even after twenty years, Byron still knew how to impress her.

Chapter Three

Byron could hear the angry voices emitting from the counsel room all the way down the hall. He grasped his computer tablet tighter and clenched his teeth. Today’s meeting would be volatile at best.

His liaison officer strode ahead of him, her boots striking the floor with force. Pausing just inside the doorway, Athee waited until Byron joined her before announcing his presence to those gathered.

“Cassan Commander Byron, in attendance!” she said, using her mental voice as well to draw attention.

The voices paused. Byron surveyed the room of prefects and council members with caution. Judging from the numbers, every city and tribe had sent representatives. Those gathered stared at Byron and his senior squadron leader for a moment before launching a volley of questions and accusations their direction.

Byron’s body went rigid and his head pounded. He was in no mood for this today.

“If you don’t want us here, we can pack up and leave!” Byron said, broadcasting loud enough to silence the protests. “Let the Vindicarn come in and strip Tgren clean of all resources. Is that what you want?”

“You don’t have the authority…” said a visiting prefect, his words spluttering with indignation.

Byron glared at the man. “I am commander of the Cassan base, and if you were to determine we’re not wanted, I’d instruct the Nacinta to retrieve all personnel before nightfall.”

The room fell into shocked silence, broken only by the scuffling of shoes. His mind shielded, Byron caught only a whisper of his mate’s surprise. It wasn’t an empty threat, although not the path he would choose. Byron forced his anger to subside. He had to remain in control of this meeting.

“However, it is not my intention to abandon Tgren,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “The war has entered your solar system, whether you like it or not. The Vindicarn and Narcon will invade your planet regardless of your position.”

Those gathered shifted in their seats. One prefect leaned forward on the table, his grizzled features contorted. “Those races wouldn’t be here now if not for your presence,” Anchore said.

Holding his indignation at bay, Byron scowled at the man. “If we weren’t here, then the Vindicarn would’ve already come and gone.”

The man’s lip twitched, his dark eyes giving no sign of acceptance. Before Anchore could utter another word, Prefect Enteller intervened.

“Gentlemen, we are not here to throw accusations or threats. We are here to resolve this dilemma.”

Prefect Enteller shot Byron a warning glance before gesturing to the three empty chairs to his right. Ignoring the inference, Byron strode toward his seat. He sensed the hostility as he rounded the large table. Selecting the middle seat, he allowed Athee to take the chair beside the prefect. He required a cushion around him if he was to keep his head for the duration of this meeting.

The others murmured amongst themselves as they waited. Sensitive to mental emissions, Byron was aware of the unease and anger permeating the room. He detected a hint of fear but not enough to sway the overriding stubbornness of those present.

You should be afraid, he thought, pulling up the latest war report on his tablet.

“Order!” Prefect Enteller said. “Commander Byron, we have already deliberated our position on this war, but we want full details before we declare our intentions. What is the extent of Cassan involvement in the war?”

Byron didn’t need to refer to his computer for that answer. “What began as skirmishes involving the Fesell and the Narcon and Vindicarn have now grown to encompass nine of the known races. Cassa officially joined defenses with the Fesell, Arellens, and Charren while the Torbeth, Jerril, and Lorvendera joined with the Narcon and Vindicarn.”

Several prefects gasped, but Byron suspected most didn’t comprehend the implications of such an alliance. The races had often bickered with one another, but never were the lines drawn so clearly as now. And at the moment, the Cassan’s enemies had the advantage.

One of the older prefects rapped his fingers against the tabletop. “Has no truce been offered on either side?”

“The uneasy truce we had with the Vindicarn has dissolved,” Byron said, leaning back in his seat. “They have refused all attempts at negotiations, as have the Narcon. We are past that point now. A truce will come when one side emerges the victor.”

“They won’t listen to reason?”

“The Vindicarn are desperate for resources and will stop at nothing to expand their territory. Because we have such a checkered history, they won’t listen to reason. An agreement might have been reached with the Narcon, but once the Vindicarn became involved, reconciliation was not an option.”

“So the Cassans are to blame for the Vindicarn’s path of destruction?” another Tgren said.

Clasping his hands together so as not to strike out at the man, Byron dropped his chin. He chose his response with care. “Would you rather we’d let them conquer all known space forty years ago instead?”

He felt his mate’s touch but ignored it. Byron didn’t want consolation.

“Forty years ago, they would’ve passed right over Tgren, knowing we weren’t a threat,” another man stated. “Now we are a target because of Cassan occupation.”

His words broke Byron’s resolve to remain calm and he slammed his fist on the table. “You are a target because of the rich supply of letrellium on this planet! Only five races have mastered teleportation, and the Vindicarn and Narcon are two of them. They would rape your planet for that compound and level your cities in the process.”

“Gentlemen, this isn’t solving anything!” said Prefect Enteller. “I’m not happy with the circumstances that brought this war to our part of the galaxy, but now we must deal with enemy ships prowling the edge of our solar system. We must prevent this war from involving Tgren.”

Enteller’s statement confirmed Byron’s suspicions. Disgusted with the situation, he crossed his arms. Diplomacy was not his strong suit. His leadership skills and familiarity with Tgren had secured him the position of commander. Moments such as these reminded him why he preferred the cockpit of a Cosbolt.

They are scared, Athee thought, her words intended for him alone.

Not scared enough.

“Commander Byron?”

Turning to the speaker, Byron recognized the prefect from the city closest to Ktren. The man was several years younger than the others and the most open minded of the group. Byron had often wished he dealt with Ubarce rather than the obstinate Enteller.

The young prefect leaned forward. “What must we do to protect Tgren?”

Feeling calmer, Byron uncrossed his arms and reached for his computer tablet. “The Cassan High Command wishes to know if you are joining the alliance. If so, they are willing to bargain not only for the protection of Tgren but the training of your pilots in Cassan ships.”

“Our pilots in your space ships?” someone exclaimed with a bark of laughter.

Prefect Ubarce turned toward the offender. “It wouldn’t be the first time!” he said, pointing at Athee. “We haven’t ventured into space yet, but our pilots and aircraft have made great strides over the past twenty years. With the proper training, our men could learn.”

“Would there be enough time?” a man to Byron’s left said, his voice as thin and weedy as his body.

“Proper training requires years,” Byron admitted, “but we could have your best pilots ready to go within a month or two.”

“Well, unless I’ve misinterpreted the situation,” began Anchore, “we don’t have a month. That makes your offer meaningless.”

Grinding his teeth, Byron stared hard at the old prefect. To his right, his squadron commander shifted in his seat. His mate’s frustrations reverberated in his head. They weren’t getting anywhere.

“Unless anyone has something to add, I think it’s time we took a vote,” said Enteller, rising to his feet. “All those in favor of supporting the Cassans with occupation of Tgren and the continued harvest of letrellium but not declaring open war on their enemies, give your consent with a show of hands.”

Nearly every hand went up. Perspiration formed on his skin as Byron’s anger began to boil. They were all ignorant fools.

“All those opposed?”

It was a small consolation that three hands shot into the air, including Prefect Ubarce’s. Twenty-two to three meant no formal declaration of war, though. It also confirmed that the Tgrens were truly oblivious to the danger their planet faced.

“Commander Byron,” said Prefect Enteller, his lips revealing a smug satisfaction with the outcome, “please inform your High Command of our decision. We will not actively take part in this war.”

Too angry to speak, Byron nodded. Snatching his computer tablet from the table, he rose to his feet and shoved aside his chair. Without waiting for his squadron commander or Athee, he strode from the counsel room. He glanced at Prefect Ubarce in passing and noted the man’s distraught expression.

Your people will regret this path, he thought in a private message to the prefect.

He didn’t wait for an answer. His boots striking the stone surface with force, Byron exited the council chambers. He wanted to place distance between himself and the idiots that governed this world.

Sir, they’re making a mistake, thought Hurend. His senior squadron commander caught up to Byron just outside the room. Despite our treaty with the Tgrens and the supply of letrellium, High Command still might decide to remove us.

The prefects are too caught up in their own world to comprehend the dangers beyond this planet, thought Byron, casting a disgusted look at Hurend.

High Command will not like their answer.

I’m not going to enjoy sending it either.

Athee fell in step beside Byron. We might be able to motivate Prefect Ubarce and a couple of the others to change their minds, she thought.

They had reached the outer doors and Byron paused. Lips pressed together, he nodded at her. Remain here and see what you can accomplish. Impart on Ubarce and the others the gravity of the situation. It’s in their best interests to formally side with our alliance.

Athee grasped his arm, her thin fingers pressing hard on his muscles. Would they really remove everyone from the base?

It’s a possibility.

Even after all these years of working together?

If the situation grows desperate, that won’t matter to High Command.

Her hand dropped from his arm and Athee stared at him. The indignation in her thoughts matched the scowl on her face. His patience strained from the council meeting, Byron was in no mood to pacify his mate.

Athee! Nine of the ten races have declared war. Never in our history have the races aligned so decisively into two sides. With Tgren uncommitted, it sends the wrong message to High Command.

And what message is that? she thought, chin raised in defiance.

If we’re not for you then we must be against you.

His words caused Athee to close her mind so tight it was as if she’d vanished. Only when consumed with anger did she employ her shields in that manner. Despite his annoyance with the situation, Byron didn’t like being locked out of her mind. The silence was a painful void in his head.

“Athee,” he said, his tone less harsh. “That is why it’s imperative you stay here and work on those prefects who might be able to sway the others. I won’t send a message to High Command until this evening. Give me something to work with, anything to indicate they might change their minds soon. Can you do that?”

Her shoulders relaxed and she offered a curt nod. “Yes, sir.” Her reply was cold, but her mental shields lowered.

Athee, I need your help if we are to save relations between our races and ultimately save Tgren, he thought, hoping to pacify his mate.

I’ll do what I can.

Turning on her heels, she marched back in the direction of the counsel room. Confident his liaison officer would not leave until she extracted a positive response from several prefects, Byron pressed his hand on the outer door and flung it open.

I hope she returns with good news, thought Hurend as they descended the stone steps.

So do I, Byron thought. He glanced back at the state building.

Athee, bring me something that will pacify High Command, he thought, frustration adding weight to his frame. Anything so I can buy us more time to reason with these fools!

Jump!

The mountainside vanished, replaced with a view over the valley. Byron banked to the right in a tight arc, letting Athee guide him to his next target. He caught sight of Ktren, smoke curling from several locations. Shoving the image out of his mind, Byron focused on the Narconian fighter below them.

She visualized another enemy vessel crossing under the first and Byron decided to pursue both. Diving hard, he angled a little to the left. Firing once, he sheered the wing and sent the Narconian ship into a spin. With the fighter eliminated, he aimed at the target rising to meet him. He fired twice, rotating the Cosbolt in the process. A laser blast streaked by the canopy but missed its mark. Byron’s shots didn’t miss, though.

Continue diving, Athee thought, sending him the image of an enemy ship on the tail of a Cosbolt.

Byron pushed the fighter even harder, swinging to the right to avoid colliding with another Cassan ship. A flash of blue below him provided visual contact. Gripping the throttle tighter, afraid the sweat pooling in his gloves would seep out through the pores, Byron pulled closer to the dart shaped fighter.

Hurry, thought his navigator, visualizing two enemies descending upon them.

Jumping would be the only option. Byron held steady as laser fire streaked past the Cosbolt’s nose. Just two more seconds…

Firing at the Narconian, Byron had only a second to confirm a direct hit before Athee jumped the ship to safety.

They reappeared over the river snaking through Ktren’s valley. Byron questioned his navigator’s choice of location.

Assessing damage, she thought, her mind divided. Minor score across the main surface. We are fit to pursue those.

Byron caught the image of three Narconian ships about to cross the river up ahead. He stayed the course, clinging to the path of the flowing water. Just as the ships came into view, he yanked hard on the throttle. Firing multiple shots, Byron soared over the enemy vessels.

Two eliminated. No wait! Athee thought. The third just crashed. Excellent shot.

Excellent navigating, Byron thought, pulling higher to assess the battle.

His six squadrons continued to fend off the Narcons. Byron received battle reports from three other Tgren cities, but his first priority was the fight over his own territory. Several Cosbolts were already down. His sector dealt primarily with a Narcon attack force. However, two of the Tgren cities were under siege from the Vindicarn. Byron could only imagine the causalities from the disrupter blasts.

We outnumber the Narcon now, thought Athee, a hint of hope in her mental voice.

Let’s make sure they know that!

Arcing skyward, Byron set his sights on an enemy fighter. His navigator guided him as they leveled off behind the narrow craft. Firing once, Byron pulled up as the ship exploded, raining debris on the desert floor below.

“Enemy in full retreat!”

The voice on the com was Hurend’s. I want confirmation! Squadrons Three and Four are to pursue, Byron thought.

“Yes, sir!”

Athee…

All enemy ships are gaining altitude, she thought.

Byron punched the buttons on his screen, determined to confirm the retreat with his own eyes. Less than a hundred Narconian ships rose from the planet’s surface. Two squadrons of Cosbolts pursued, firing at the enemy with reckless abandon. Turning his attention to the view outside the cockpit, Byron angled the Cosbolt to return to the base. So much damage to assess…

Enemy just jumped, thought Athee.

About damn time.

He let Hurend retrieve the squadrons in pursuit. Byron needed to return to the surface. The Nacinta would want an update, as would High Command. Even more pressing was the tally of ships and lives lost today. Judging from the fires across Ktren, that total would depress him.

Bassan is all right.

Byron blinked, caught in the wave of relief from his mate. Now that the battle lay behind them, he could allow himself to feel again. Bassan’s safety lightened the load on his heart. Byron banked to the right and prepared to land, thankful he’d lost none of his family today.

Their Cosbolt taxied into the hangar, the first to return. Before it came to a stop, urgent voices began to assault his mind. Weary from battle, Byron suspected his endurance would be tested today.

Officer Mard, what is the damage to the base? he thought, responding first to the senior officer of base security.

Minimal, sir. Most of the damage is from downed fighters.

No direct strikes?

No, sir. It appears Ktren did not fare so well though. Numerous strikes across the city have been reported.

I want the damage to the Tgren city assessed, as well as any damage to the base, Byron thought. Prepare medical for incoming wounded and send a team to Ktren.

Yes, sir!

Powering down the Cosbolt, Byron opened the canopy. He took a deep breath before hauling himself out of the cockpit. The hangar crew pushed a platform into position and he swung his legs over the side of the ship.

I need you in Ktren, he thought to Athee, reaching out to steady his mate as her feet hit the steel platform. She nodded, wobbling a moment before gaining her balance.

Byron slid down the ladder and assisted Athee to the hangar floor. He could hear the echo in her mind of Tgren voices even as several officers requested his attention. With so much to focus on, he tuned out her thoughts. He reached out to Officer Hurend to confirm the return of Cosbolts to the base and a damage report.

A sudden cry from Athee stopped him in his tracks. He turned, struck by the anguish in her mind. Athee’s head was down, a hand across her forehead.

Athee? he thought.

My uncle!

He didn’t require an explanation. Images of a leveled section of Ktren flashed in his mind. Emanating from Istaner, Athee’s cousin, they revealed a frantic search for the former prefect of Ktren. Byron’s stomach twisted as if it were collapsing. Orellen meant so much to both of them.

Returning to her side, he wrapped his arms around Athee. Ignoring the persistent voices in his head, Byron focused all of his mental energy on comforting his mate. They were pressed for time, but this might be the last moment they shared until tonight.

They will find him. Alive, he thought. Easing his hold, Byron placed a hand alongside her face and tilted Athee’s head. Damp eyes met his, although no tears had fallen yet.

We still have a job to do. Can you manage?

Athee nodded, and her neck twitched from a nervous swallow. Sensing resolve in her mind, Byron released her. She straightened her shoulders and stood to her full height.

Let’s get to it then, Byron thought. And keep me posted. On all accounts.

He waited until they were clear of the hangar and Athee on her way before responding to calls for his attention. Prefect Enteller’s rose above the others, frantic in its pitch.

Commander Byron, we need assistance!

Prefect, I have just returned to the surface, he thought. Medical and relief teams are on their way. In the meantime, I want you to contact the other prefects and arrange a meeting.

A meeting? Commander, our cities are in shambles from the attack! We don’t have time…

Prefect Enteller, arrange either a physical gathering on this base or a mental meeting by the evening meal, I don’t care which, thought Byron, his strides growing longer. He was through treading with care around the prefect. I have bought you all the time I can with High Command. Today was a direct attack against Tgren. If it has not convinced you of the necessity to declare your allegiance, then there’s little else I can do to help you.

There was a moment’s pause. Commander, I will arrange a meeting of some sort.

Enteller sounded less than pleased, but Byron didn’t care. His rapid pace carried him around a corner and into the command center. Judging from the flurry of activity, he’d walked into total chaos. An officer noticed his appearance and at once approached Byron.

Let me know when to expect you, he thought, ending his conversation with the prefect. Byron’s morning in the cockpit was only the beginning of a long day of battles.

Chapter Four

Noting an incoming message, Byron leaned forward and mashed the keypad. The inscription indicated it was a recording from High Command. The wrinkled face of the senior Chancellor of High Commander appeared on his screen.

“Commander Byron, we received your transmission confirming the Tgren’s declaration of allegiance with Cassa and our allies in this war. High Command accepts. Continue defending the planet and begin training the best Tgren pilots. All resources are to focus on those two objectives until further notice.”

The screen went black. Slumping in his chair, Byron closed his eyes. He’d hoped for that answer when he sent the transmission two hours ago. The meeting with the prefects had not taken long. Not with four Tgren cities recovering from enemy attack. Three of the men had tried to protest, almost causing Byron to abandon his resolve of restraint. Prefect Ubarce had taken over at that moment, calling the men cowards with no honor and inviting them to come view his decimated city. If the sight of Ktren’s destruction weren’t enough, the images Ubarce shared convinced them. A declaration of war against the Narcon and Vindicarn, and any race that sided with them, became a unanimous decision. Byron held a new respect for the young prefect.

I will try to visit your city tomorrow, he thought, running through his list of accumulating duties. Ubarce’s city housed the recovery facility for mentally damaged Cassans, and those numbers had tripled today, further taxing resources. At least he’d sent a medical team to help this afternoon.

His screen blinked again. This time it was the commander of the Nacinta.

“Commander Byron,” said Ganter, his eyes reflecting Byron’s own exhaustion. “We have confirmed the location of the Vindicarn and Narcon ships in sector 119-322. They’ve retreated even farther this time. Either we are beating them back…”

“Or they are just waiting for reinforcements,” Byron said, running his hand through his hair.

Ganter nodded, his eyes reduced to mere slits, which further wrinkled his forehead. “We lost thirteen men today I’m afraid. Another twenty are wounded. The nine men injured by disrupters just returned from the Tgren medical facility and should rejoin their squadrons tomorrow.”

“We lost six, with five injuries. Fortunately we did not have to deal with the Vindicarn today.”

“Small mercies. How many civilians?’

Byron pressed his fingers hard against the desk. “Forty-nine at last count. All but one are Tgren.”

“Damn good thing they finally declared war then.”

Just wish it hadn’t required a direct attack to get them to do it, Byron thought. “Commander, let me know if the enemy’s position changes.”

Ganter signed off, plunging Byron’s office into silence once more. After the daylong assault on his senses and mind, he needed a moment of peace. Reluctant to contact his security officer for an update, he pulled up Mard’s latest report on his computer. The numbers hadn’t changed, although the names of most Tgren casualties were now listed. He was relieved Athee’s uncle had escaped the ranks of civilians killed in the attack. The loss would’ve devastated her.

Byron’s gaze shifted to the list of Cassans killed during battle. His chest tightened as he read the names once again. He knew every one of those men, but it was the third name that dug deepest. Menernx, a pilot serving his third year on Tgren. The young man had possessed talent and an eagerness to improve. He’d also boasted a free spirit and great sense of humor.

Just like your father, Ernx, Byron thought, picturing his friend during their last exchange. Ernx no longer flew Cosbolts, but he’d lost none of his quick wit. Aware the death of his only son would devastate his friend, Byron had sent the news himself. Better Ernx hear it from his former comrade than receive an impersonal message.

I am so sorry, my friend, he thought.

Byron?

His mate’s was the one voice he didn’t mind breaking the silence. How is your uncle?

He’s resting, thought Athee. The medical staff said he‘ll be here at least a week. I’m going to stay here with him tonight. Istaner is working with the cleanup crews and my cousin’s mate is helping with supplies. Besides, sitting by his bedside will give me time to fill out my reports.

Irony tugged at Byron’s chest. I think I can cut you some slack if they aren’t done in a timely fashion. Besides, I know what happened during the battle. I was there, remember?

I can at least fill out my report on Ktren. I’ll miss you tonight.

I’ll miss you, Byron thought, closing his eyes to allow her words to fill his senses. They rarely spent nights apart and he would miss the warmth of her body at his side.

Don’t forget to retrieve Bassan before you go home.

Byron’s eyes flew open. Retrieve Bassan? I thought he was staying with Mevine?

He’s spoken to me several times tonight, asking when he can go home. Today really scared him.

Can’t he stay with you?

It’s too chaotic here, thought Athee. It would really disturb him to see the damage.

I still have work to do, though. I’ll ask Mevine if he can stay…

Byron! Athee’s voice bordered on indignant. I know we have our duties, but he hasn’t seen either of us all day and he’s really scared. And don’t tell me he ought to understand the harshness of war. All he knows is he could’ve lost both of us today.

Covering his eyes, Byron moaned. He hadn’t counted on taking care of Bassan tonight. There were still tasks he needed to complete. Granted he could perform his duties from home, but the day had taken its toll on Byron’s body. As parched as the desert surrounding Ktren, his energy was spent.

Bassan has contacted me three times in the last hour, asking when you would arrive, thought Athee. If you aren’t going to retrieve him, then you tell our son he won’t see either of us tonight.

Damn your powers of persuasion, Byron thought. I’ll leave in a few minutes.

Good. I’ll feel better knowing he is with you.

Is that the real reason you want me to get him?

He wants to be with his father. That’s all the reason that matters.

Guilt pricked at Byron’s conscience. His gaze strayed to the computer screen and Menernx’s name. I’m on my way. I’ll speak with you later.

He fielded two more messages while crossing the compound, and Byron had to pause outside of Mevine’s door to answer a third. Hopefully, he could go a few hours tonight without his computer pad chirping or a voice echoing in his head. Byron needed some sleep.

When the door slid aside, Bassan leapt out to greet him. His son hesitated, eyes wide as the boy stared at his father. Byron imagined he appeared rough. He’d never even changed out of his flight suit. Not wanting to scare his son further, he offered a faint smile. Bassan at once threw his arms around his father, clinging to Byron in a manner that suggested he might never let go. Byron draped his free arm around his son, too tired to offer more.

“You look beat.”

Byron glanced up and noticed Mevine in the doorway. The science officer straightened his shoulders.

“Sir!” he added.

“Mevine,” Byron said, shaking his head. How many times have I told you? No formalities here. I appreciate you watching Bassan.

“He is always welcome,” said Mevine, smiling at Bassan. The boy broke his death grip on Byron and slid his small fingers into his father’s hand.

Go home and rest, thought Mevine. It’s been a long, terrible day for everyone, and you do indeed look beat.

More than you can imagine. Goodnight, my friend.

Once they were home, Byron told Bassan to amuse himself in his room. Byron wanted nothing more than to shed the flight suit, which felt stuck to his body. His son obliged, providing Byron time to clean up and grab something to drink. He intended to send Bassan to bed at that point, but an urgent message derailed that idea. Collapsing on the oversized couch, he answered the call.

Several other messages had arrived and he listened to each one. Reaching the last one, Byron hesitated before opening the message from Ernx. Judging from the timestamp, his friend had sent it not long after receiving news of his son’s death this morning, Cassan time. Byron hadn’t expected a reply. He stared at it, afraid to let the message play. Ernx had lost his son under Byron’s command. The response couldn’t be good.

Leaning forward, he tapped the message. Ernx’s image appeared, his aging face revealing more lines than Byron remembered. Eyes dark and shoulders stooped, Ernx looked every bit a man who’d just lost his son.

“Byron, thank you for taking the time to send me a direct message about Menernx. I’ve always known there was a chance he might die. Comes with the territory,” said Ernx. He paused, his mouth twisted.

“Menernx was proud to serve under you. I’d told him so much about you over the years. His career choice was more influenced by you than me.”

I doubt that, my friend, Byron thought, his chest tightening. Ernx had been an excellent Cosbolt pilot in his prime.

“I remember the day he sent me the message he’d finally secured a tour of Tgren. He was so excited to meet the legend. Judging from the messages since his arrival on Tgren, you didn’t disappoint him. He was honored to serve under your command. It was a dream come true for Menernx.

“Byron,” said Ernx, his voice cracking. He dropped his chin for a moment before lifting it just enough for Byron to see the tears in his friend’s eyes. “At least I know my son died doing what he loved and doing it for a man he truly admired.”

Ernx sniffed and the message ended. Byron stared at the black screen. The tablet trembled in his hands. His friend had just lost his only son, and yet he still found it in his heart to send Byron such a moving message. Byron allowed his chin to fall to his chest.

I’m sorry your son had to die under my charge, he thought. I wish I’d known him better. I had no idea he admired me so much.

A touch on Byron’s shoulders startled him and he looked up. Bassan jumped, the tips of his fingers still touching his father. Byron stared at his son, surprised by the empathy in the boy’s thoughts. Steel blue eyes gazed back at him, but they were not cold or unfeeling. Instead, they mirrored an angst Byron had not seen since he gazed at his own childhood reflection.

“Bassan,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, father,” his son said, removing his hand. “You just, sounded so sad, like you just lost a friend.”

Those words shot through Byron’s heart. Setting down the tablet, he reached for Bassan’s hand and pulled the boy close. Without hesitation, his son wrapped his arms around Byron’s neck. His thoughts were unshielded and Byron marveled at the love and adoration. Here Byron was lamenting not spending time with a friend’s son when he didn’t spend enough with his own. What if he’d lost Bassan today?

Byron?

Athee’s gentle voice entered his mind. If Bassan had caught Byron’s agonizing thoughts, then it was no surprise his mate heard as well.

I’m all right, Byron thought, still holding his son. He allowed her to glimpse the message and refrained from shielding his feelings regarding Menernx and Bassan.

I’m sorry, thought Athee in a whisper that caressed his mind. Your son adores you, though.

I know. He’s here with me now.

Then I will allow you two a moment together.

Her presence faded. Byron released his son and held Bassan at arm’s length. He noted the short, dark hair falling across his son’s forehead, a hint of wave in the locks. It complimented the darker skin; a trait inherited from his mother. Bassan’s thin frame held very still in Byron’s grasp, waiting obediently for his father to speak first.

Byron smiled and brushed aside the hair on Bassan’s forehead. “I think you’re going to grow up to be very handsome,” he said.

“Really?” Bassan said. “Mother said I would grow up to look like you. She told me that’s good, because you’re handsome.”

“Did she now?” said Byron, both amused and flattered his mate would say that to their son.

Bassan nodded. He licked his lips and drew back his shoulders. “Father, why were you so sad?”

Byron rubbed his son’s arms, contemplating his answer. “We lost some quality men today. One was the son of a very good friend of mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. He was a superb pilot.”

Fear surfaced in Bassan’s thoughts. Byron sensed a combination of concern for Athee’s uncle and anxiety due to the part Bassan’s parents played in today’s battle. He gave his son a little shake.

“Hey, your mother and I are fine, and your uncle will recover. No need to worry.” With those words, the last trace of energy seeped from Byron’s body. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

His son nodded and Byron rose to his feet, every muscle protesting the movement. Before he could take a step, Bassan grabbed his hand.

“I don’t want to sleep alone in my bed,” he said, his voice cracking.

The request surprised Byron. He couldn’t recall the last time Bassan had been too frightened to sleep by himself. Glancing around the main room, Byron decided a change of scenery might be good for both of them.

“I’ll grab some blankets and we’ll sleep out here,” he offered. “Why don’t you go get ready for bed?”

Byron settled his son on the smaller couch before collapsing on the larger one. He pulled the covers to his chin and let his arms drop to his sides, ready to enjoy the lack of motion. He’d told Athee goodnight at he gathered the blankets. Byron sent a similar thought in his son’s direction.

Goodnight, Father. I love you, Bassan thought.

Eyes still closed, Byron used his last trace of energy to smile. I love you.

Multiple messages came through in the middle of the night. Byron stirred long enough to answer those that required an immediate reply, dropping back into a dreamless sleep the moment his head returned to the pillow. In the morning, he discovered Bassan curled up beside him.

Wonder when this happened? Byron thought, stretching his legs.

He roused his son, prodding him to get ready for his classes. Since damage to the base was minimal, Byron had decided the children should attend classes as usual. It would keep their minds occupied and free their parents to tend to other tasks. All personnel would be required today.

Several officers awaited his arrival, seeking guidance and approval for the day’s assignments. The immediate decisions out of the way, Byron went into Ktren to view the damage firsthand. He met with Prefect Enteller, who guided him to the areas hit hardest.

The Cassan transport vehicle moved slowly through the streets, navigating piles of broken stone and Tgren carts filled with debris. The oppressing mood hung heavy in the air, like the heat of a summer afternoon before a thunderstorm. Men and women sifted through the rubble, their hands and faces covered with dust. The scenes were a sharp contrast to the images Athee had projected yesterday. No longer driven by fear and the urgency to find survivors, the Tgrens had settled into resignation and depression.

Tearing his gaze from the downcast faces, Byron turned to the prefect. “Enteller, I require a list of your best pilots. Send it to Officer Hurend this afternoon. Include each man and woman’s profile. My senior squadron commander will select the most qualified to begin training tomorrow.”

The prefect nodded, his head still turned toward the window. “Will they train to fly Cosbolts?”

“No, Cosbolts require both a pilot and navigator to fly. It would take too long to train your people how to operate them. We have several one-seater Dartens here on the base, and the Nacinta is sending down their extra fighters. We’ll also train some for the shuttles so all craft can be utilized.”

Byron waited for a response, unsure if his words had registered with the man. Enteller had voted last night in favor of a declaration of war without a single protest, his usual fire absent. The former prefect, Athee’s uncle, had been set in his ways when Byron arrived on this planet many years ago. The threat of the alien probe, guided to this world by the ancient alien ship, changed the man’s outlook. Byron had enjoyed dealing with Orellen, especially once he took command of the base. Enteller had come with his own views, determined to preserve Tgren’s way of life. Yesterday’s attack had changed his plans, but Byron now feared it had crushed the man’s spirit in the process.

“Prefect Enteller, we will prepare your people as quickly as possible,” he said, shifting in his seat to gain the man’s attention.

“But will it be enough?” Enteller turned to face him, his skin pulled tight over his drawn face. “Will they be able to learn in time to make a difference?”

“If you send me your best, we can have them proficient within weeks.”

“You’re sure it can be done?”

Suppressing his smugness, Byron crossed his arms. “Twenty years ago, the first Tgren pilot trained on a shuttle mastered its flight in just over a week.”

Enteller rolled his head in Byron’s direction. “Officer Athee?” he said, eyebrows arched.

“Yes. Between training and observing my actions, she learned enough to perform basic maneuvers.”

The prefect rested his elbow against the door of the transport. “I didn’t realize you’d trained her yourself.”

“That’s how I knew she’d make a good Cosbolt navigator,” said Byron, recalling those first few weeks with Athee. She had tested his patience even as she impressed him with her aptitude and skill.

“We need more like her. We need them now, Commander Byron.”

The man’s despondency disturbed Byron. Enteller had received a shock yesterday, but succumbing to depression wasn’t the answer. Byron had faced many battles and experienced devastating losses over the past forty years. One loss early in his career had set him back for a day, but his superior’s orders to resume flying forced Byron into action again. Now the commander of the Tgren base, he no longer possessed the luxury of apathy. Byron wondered how to snap Enteller’s despair. Ktren required a strong leader right now.

The city’s medical facility came into view and the transport stopped by the main entrance. Grabbing the small bag at his feet, Byron exited the craft in haste, relieved to escape the negative mood permeating the main compartment. He entered the two-story building with the prefect, hoping to keep this visit short. Many tasks awaited him on base. At the moment, the driving force was an opportunity to escape Enteller.

Byron had visited the facility in the past, but the conditions he now witnessed surpassed any previous disaster. Makeshift beds lined the hallway, stretching to the set of doors at the far end. The cries of someone farther down the hall pierced his ears. The distressed woman projected with her mind as well, and Byron shielded against the assault. Others moaned, their soft wails an uneven pitch of sounds.

Medicinal smells threatened to burn his nose, but there was one scent no amount of chemicals could mask. The smell of death. Byron knew it all too well.

Prefect Enteller turned to Byron, his jaw set in resignation. “Commander, there are several people I must visit, so I won’t keep you. I’ll send Officer Hurend a list of our best pilots this afternoon. Good day.”

Without waiting for a response, Enteller moved toward the nearest bed, his gait slow and plodding. Free of the man at last, Byron sought the stairs. Only one patient expected him today, and Byron didn’t intend to keep Orellen waiting.

Athee greeted him at the top of the stairs. She appeared tired but no worse for wear. Stepping aside as a man carrying boxes descended the stairs, Byron took the final steps two at a time to reach his mate. She grasped his arm, her grip firm through his jacket. Abandoning protocol, Byron placed his arms around her.

“Is your uncle awake?” said Byron, releasing Athee.

“He is,” she said, taking a step toward the closest door. “He awoke a few minutes ago.”

“Here,” Byron said, holding up the bag. “I brought you fresh clothes.”

“Good because this flight suit is beginning to stink. I’m going to go change right now.”

You never smell bad, he thought, entering the room.

Byron was grateful he’d viewed the former prefect earlier through Athee’s mind. Concealing his shock would’ve been impossible otherwise. Half of Orellen’s face was bandaged, including his left eye. What wasn’t covered sported small cuts and bruises. The man’s left arm was immobilized and wrapped, right down to his fingers. Byron was pleased to note the apparatus around Orellen’s arm was of Cassan design, as were the bandages. Athee’s uncle deserved the very best.

Commander…

Orellen’s mental voice was strong, which pleased Byron. Just Byron today, he thought, approaching the man’s bedside. He grasped the former prefect’s forearm and offered a reassuring smile. I understand you’ve kept my liaison officer from performing her duties today.

I told her she didn’t have to stay.

And how many times have you won an argument with Athee?

The right side of Orellen’s mouth twitched. Next to never.

I will need her eventually, but for now she is to remain at your side.

Raising his right hand, Athee’s uncle returned Byron’s grasp. Despite his injuries, Orellen’s fingers exhibited great strength. Byron admired the man’s tenacity. Orellen would fight until his last breath.

I never thought I’d see this day, thought Orellen, his eyelid drooping.

Byron’s jaw muscles tightened. The day your people declared war against another race?

No. The day our people would again face an outside threat, one that could destroy us. Only this time, I am powerless to do anything about it.

Offering a curt nod, Byron shielded his next thoughts for Orellen only. I’d be lying if I said I was glad Enteller held the position of prefect now.

He was never my first choice, thought Orellen, but no one else stepped up when I resigned.

At least he agreed to sign the alliance.

Orellen’s forehead wrinkled further as the older man offered his best scowl. Only with much prodding and after we were attacked. Took a tragedy to motivate Enteller and the others to action.

Prefect Ubarce was convinced before the attack.

Young rebel. Determined to change Tgren. He just might succeed someday. Orellen’s fingers tightened around Byron’s arm. Just like another rebel I know.

I just wanted your niece.

Orellen’s lips did more than twitch this time, and his amusement cut through all feelings of concern.

“What’s so funny?”

Winking at Orellen, Byron released his arm and turned to face Athee. Clad in a clean uniform, her face glowed and she appeared refreshed. Byron’s mate didn’t wait for either man to answer and strode toward the bed.

“I think you should rest now,” she told Orellen.

My dear, I am resting, her uncle thought with a hint of indignation.

And Byron has work to do, Athee thought, placing one hand on her hip, which he can’t deny since I heard him contemplating his long list on his way up the stairs.

Orellen frowned, his gaze shifting to Byron. All Byron could do was shrug.

You want to argue with her? he thought.

No!

Byron wished the man well and bid him good day. He touched Athee’s cheek in passing and she nodded, her presence filling his head.

I will be home tonight. I promise.

Good, thought Byron as he departed. Because tonight I need you.

Chapter Five

Punching the final button, Byron leaned back in his chair and waited for a response. Prefect Ubarce possessed a Cassan computer tablet, as did all the prefects, but there was a chance he did not have it with him. The Vindicarn had hit Ubarce’s city hard, and the man might’ve set it aside to work. Of the twenty-five prefects of the united Tgren world, the youngest exhibited the most involvement with his people. Ubarce was not above getting his hands dirty if the need presented itself.

Glancing at his own tablet, Byron pulled up the afternoon flights. Hurend had every squadron practicing maneuvers. Nine Cosbolts were missing from the roster, even after teams from damaged fighters were placed in the two backups. One team would rejoin their squadron tomorrow, but the others would be out of commission longer. Two full teams, a navigator, and a pilot were all gone and three Cosbolts damaged beyond repair.

I wonder if the surviving pilot and navigator would be up to training the Tgrens? Byron thought, making a note to ask Hurend when he returned that afternoon.

“Commander Byron?”

Looking up at his main computer screen, Byron realized Ubarce had answered. Dust coated the man’s hair, concealing his shaggy, black locks. Over the prefect’s shoulder, Byron noted a damaged building, its sandy surface boasting numerous gaping holes. Several workers removed debris from the site. They moved with a haste not present in those Byron had witnessed earlier in Ktren.

“Prefect Ubarce, I’d hoped to visit your city this afternoon, but I won’t be able to get away until tomorrow morning,” said Byron. “Do you have enough supplies and personnel?”

Ubarce glanced over his shoulder before answering. “At the moment, we have plenty of assistance. In addition to the medical supplies you sent yesterday, the Nacinta sent two teams and took a shuttle full of wounded back to the flagship. I’m told that unless there is an emergency, they will remain there until tomorrow. I know they’ll receive far better care on the Nacinta than here.”

“Commander Ganter probably appreciates the care your people provided for his downed pilots.”

“All nine men hit by disrupters have since recovered,” said the prefect, brushing dust out of his hair. “They returned to the Nacinta last night.”

“That’s good news. I asked Enteller to give me a list of his best pilots so we might begin training some of them in Cassan vessels. I’d like to extend that invitation to you, if you’ve pilots to spare.”

“Of course!” Ubarce lifted his chin and Byron couldn’t miss the fire in the man’s eyes. “Damn, if I could, I’d place myself on that list.”

Byron smiled, encouraged by Ubarce’s attitude. “If I find the candidates lacking, I just might take you up on that offer. We need skilled pilots who are quick learners.”

“I’ll send you a list of my best right away.”

“Very good, Prefect Ubarce. I will notify you before I arrive tomorrow.”

“I’m just glad we’re fighting back, Commander Byron,” said Ubarce.

Ending the transmission, Byron pulled his computer tablet closer. Send me a list of pilots with your determination and I’ll train every one of them, he thought.

He touched his screen just as the lights flickered. The image on the monitor dimmed and scrambled. Puzzled, Byron glanced at his main computer. A light green static appeared, pulsating at a rapid pace. The lights flickered again before everything returned to normal.

Now what? Byron reached for the keyboard to contact his senior security officer.

Commander!

The senior science officer’s entreaty overrode all else. Officer Mevine? What is going on? We just experienced a power drain.

Sir, every system on the alien craft just came online. Everything but the engines. We have full power now.

Byron rose to his feet. Is it transmitting a signal? he thought, alarm swelling in his chest.

Sir, it’s transmitting so many signals, we don’t even know where to begin.

Damn, we don’t need this right now, thought Byron. The last time the ship sent a transmission, an alien vessel almost destroyed Tgren.

Sir! Security Officer Mard’s voice entered his head. We have a situation on the alien ship.

Officer Mevine just notified me, thought Byron, grabbing his tablet as he rounded the desk. Officer Mard, you are to remove all but essential personnel from the alien ship at once. And recall the team drilling for letrellium. I want the area cleared.

Yes, sir!

Officer Mevine, get all essential personnel off the ship. Now!  he added to deter any protest from his senior science officer.

Yes, sir. Evacuating now.

Slipping out of his office the moment the door slid aside, Byron ran down the hall. The pounding of his boots created a rhythmic noise, and he used the sound to beat back his fear. Where were those signals going? Were there multiple probes on their way to Tgren now? Or was the entire alien army about to descend upon them?

His computer pad announced the arrival of several messages. Byron did not slow his pace until he reached the main hangar. Signaling to the team preparing a shuttle, he glanced at his screen. The most urgent message originated from Prefect Enteller. Composing his thoughts, Byron answered.

“Commander Byron, we just experienced a brief drain in power all over the city,” said Enteller. “Are we under attack again?’

“Prefect Enteller, the drain originated from the alien ship. We are not under attack.”

“The alien ship? What caused it?”

“I’m on my way there now to find out, Prefect. I will contact you when I know more.”

Before the man could say another word, Byron ended the transmission. He reached the shuttle just as the engines roared to life. Officer Mard stood at attention, waiting outside the ship. Trotting up the ramp, Byron entered the cockpit and swung into the co-pilot’s seat.

“Welcome aboard, Commander,” said the pilot.

Byron offered Roesaw a brief nod as he reached for the harness. Secure in his seat, he glanced at the remaining messages. Judging from the other reports filing in, the event was limited to the area around the alien ship.

At least I’ve only one prefect to deal with today, he thought as the shuttle launched.

Please be careful.

Athee’s words were soft and unobtrusive. Her presence had lurked in silence, listening to the exchanges without interfering. She knew exactly what was happening.

I will, he thought.

They landed at the flight strip near the main entrance of the alien ship. Men were already outside the cave entrance, equipment in hand. Several approached the shuttle while others raced into the squat buildings by the runway. Calculating the number of scientists present, Byron knew many more had yet to appear.

“Sir, two more shuttles are on their way,” Officer Mard said as Byron exited the craft.

“Get these men out of here then,” said Byron. “And empty the alien ship of all non-essential personnel. If not cleared through Officer Mevine, they are to leave at once.”

“Yes, sir!”

Ignoring the strong wind that blew through the wide canyon, whipping sand against his face, Byron took the stairs two at a time to the cave entrance. A group of scientists parted to let him pass, surprise echoing in their thoughts. He strode past them and into the wide tunnel.

Officer Mevine, your location?

Sir? You shouldn’t be here, Commander.

Neither should you. But since we’re both here, tell me your location.

I’m on my way to the central control room.

I’ll meet you there.

A few minutes later, Byron strode into the control center. After the soft glow of the cave lights and muted rings in the alien ship’s passageway, the brightness of the room blinded him. Shielding his eyes with his hand, Byron scanned the room. He’d visited the ancient alien ship thousands of times but couldn’t recall an occasion when every light glowed with such brilliance. Even the plasma ball in the center of the room pounded with energy. Across the room, computer screens flashed data at a rapid pace, creating a kaleidoscope of images. It was sensory overload.

Officer Mevine, report! he thought, trying to locate the man.

“Commander,” said Mevine, appearing to his right. The science officer held up his personal tablet. “Sir, ninety-nine percent of the ship’s systems are online and functioning. Everything from life support to navigation. The ship is operating at peak performance.”

Byron didn’t bother looking at Mevine’s computer pad. “You said the engines weren’t online?”

“They weren’t,” the science officer said. “But we discovered that system is working; the engines just haven’t engaged. Everything else is operational!”

His tone wavered between alarm and excitement. Most of the systems on the alien ship had lain dormant for years, never divulging their secrets. Without knowing the reason why the ship had come to life though, Byron couldn’t indulge his science officer’s curiosity.

“On the chance the engines do fire up, you are to gather what information you can and get out of here,” he said. “How many men remain?”

“Six of us, sir. The other twenty-seven were ordered to leave.”

Byron relayed the headcount to Mard. “Any idea what caused this?” he asked.

“We’re trying to determine that right now.”

Following Mevine to one of the consoles, Byron noticed another science officer hunched over a large computer tablet. The dual screen displayed Cassan numbers and figures on the top and a pattern of changing images, similar to what the scrolled through the alien consoles, on the bottom. The officer was typing at a frantic pace.

“Our equipment flickered for a few moments and then everything on this ship roared to life,” said Mevine, glancing at his own computer pad. He tapped the screen several times, his brows pulled together.

“You said it was transmitting multiple signals?”

“Transmitting and receiving.”

“Receiving, Mevine?” said Byron, raising his voice in urgency.

The science officer looked up, his eyes wide. “Sir, I’m sorry. Yes, receiving from multiple locations. I have a man down there now trying to get a lock on the positions.”

Byron’s mind raced through the possibilities. One lone signal had gone out to the probe twenty years ago. Were multiple alien probes soon to approach Tgren, or the aliens themselves? Considering the first probe’s mission nearly ended with the destruction of all life on this planet, neither prospect sounded good.

“Officer Mevine, I want everyone off this ship as soon as possible,” said Byron. “Gather what data you can and process the information back at the base. I need answers, but I won’t risk a single person on this ship. If the doors lock or the engines fire up, you won’t have time to get out.”

Tugging at his jacket’s crease, the science officer nodded. Byron stepped away from the two men, giving them space. Leaning against a console, he checked his tablet for incoming messages.

“Sir, you should leave,” said Mevine, his voice cracking.

Byron didn’t bother to look up from his screen. “I’ll leave when you do, Officer Mevine.”

At the sound of scuffling boots, Byron glanced up. Mevine hovered in front of him. The man’s entire body shook, mirroring the nervous thoughts projecting from his mind.

“Sir, it’s not safe!”

“Then I suggest you hurry,” said Byron, a tight lid on his own nerves. Mevine was rattled enough.

The science officer stared at him, his mouth open. Snapping to action, Mevine whirled back to the main console. Byron heard him project a warning to all remaining personnel that they were to complete their tasks and evacuate.

Knew that would prod you into action, Byron thought, returning to his messages. Good, because I really don’t want to be trapped on this ship and shot into space.

I don’t want that either!

Still eavesdropping? he thought, reviewing a transcript on his screen even as he responded to his mate.

Of course, thought Athee. I need my facts straight when I speak with Enteller.

Not yet. Let me return to the base first. He’s not pressing you for details, is he?

No. But I do hope you’ll be on your way soon.

Byron glanced at Mevine, engrossed in the information scrolling across the Cassan computer screen.

You know I’m not leaving without Mevine, he thought, recalling the overeager young man of twenty years ago. After an explosion in this very room nearly took the scientist’s life, Byron refused to abandon him now.

Mevine didn’t take long to complete his task. The other scientists were already on a shuttle bound for the base when the three of them emerged from the cave. They hastened to the remaining shuttle, sliding into seats in the main compartment. Fastening his harness, Byron ordered the pilot to leave at once.

“Sir, you shouldn’t have waited,” Mevine said, still fumbling with his harness. You’re too important.

As are you, Byron thought, pressing his back against the seat. Mevine looked up, his mouth open, and Byron gave the man his most intimidating stare.

Commander Byron?  thought Hurend. Squadron Two is still on patrol over the city. The others are being refueled and are on standby.

Very good, thought Byron. He reached out for the head of his security. Officer Mard, report.

Sir, seismic vibrations have increased around the alien ship, but they are within parameters. We’ll continue to monitor. With the base on full alert, I have ordered extra security in Ktren. Officer Athee is coordinating with me on maintaining order within the city council.

Good. Unless they demand an explanation, I want to wait until we know more before releasing information to Prefect Enteller.

Understood, sir.

Byron had already contacted the Nacinta while waiting on the alien ship. Only one task remained. “Mevine, what can you tell me?”

The science officer looked up from his tablet. “Sir, it will take a while to analyze the data, but it appears the ship was transmitting to ten other locations.”

“Do you have a fix on those locations?”

“No, not yet.”

“We need those locations. We have to know what we’re up against this time,” said Byron. he didn’t want a repeat of the events of twenty years ago. “Any idea what caused the ship’s systems to come online?”

Mevine fidgeted in his seat. “No sir, I don’t. I was in the capsule control center when it happened.”

Byron peered at the other science officer. The man swallowed and clutched the large computer pad to his chest.

“Sir, I’d just arrived in the main control center.”

His arms wrapped even tighter around the computer. Byron stared at the device, his mind churning. “Describe your actions when you arrived,” he said.

“I’d spent the morning analyzing yesterday’s data,” the man said, this thin fingers strumming the computer. “When I arrived at the ship, I plugged my computer into the mainframe as usual. The systems came online a few minutes later.”

A jolt of realization emanated from Mevine, mirroring Byron’s assumptions. “What other information is on that computer?” the science officer said, grasping his harness as the shuttle banked.

“Well, it’s my personal computer, but other than that, just data from the alien ship.”

Byron glanced at Mevine. The science officer’s bony shoulders drooped and he nodded.

“Officer Mevine, find the connection,” said Byron. “And find the locations of those transmissions!”

Byron rubbed his forehead, pressing his fingers deep into the skin. Nothing seemed to relieve the pressure though. He gave up the effort, resigned to the fact his head would hurt for the remainder of the day. Considering the late hour, he wouldn’t endure the pain much longer. It was but a small consolation.

“Prefect Enteller, we are still analyzing the data. We’re confident the propulsion system will remain offline. Just keep your people away from the mountain. We’ll let you know if anything changes,” he said, hoping that would pacify the man who dominated on his computer screen.

“Commander, if that ship emerges, the shockwaves could level Ktren!’

Why couldn’t you remain in your despondency? Byron thought, annoyed with the man’s drastic shift of attitude. “We’ve run that scenario through simulation and while it would cause strong seismic vibrations, it wouldn’t destroy Ktren. My team will alert you if anything changes.”

“Yes, but in the meantime, my people are in grave danger,” said Enteller, thrusting his pointed nose closer to the screen.

“Prefect, some of my best men are in harm’s way, trying to find answers!” said Byron, slamming his fist on the desk. His reaction had the desired effect and Enteller leaned away from the screen. “I will let you know the moment I hear something.”

Without waiting for a response, his fingers came down on the keyboard. Byron closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. He needed to be more diplomatic with the prefect. The Tgrens were official allies with the Cassans now. The man deserved to know what was happening.

Why did I accept this position? Byron thought.

His computer beeped. Noting the message originated from the Nacinta, Byron answered at once.

“Commander Byron, I didn’t expect to find you still in your office,” said Commander Ganter, his brows drawn tightly together.

“I’m still here, Commander,” said Byron, leaning forward.

“Has your team determined the locations of the alien ship’s transmission?”

Byron glanced at his personal tablet. No new information had been uploaded in the past hour. “They’re still working on it. Any change in the enemy’s position?”

“No, and we’ve not detected any other ships in the area. The Litheron and Darentor are within range should anything new transpire.”

“We’re ready no matter what happens,” Byron said, asserting confidence he didn’t feel.

“We’ll keep you posted. And Commander,” said Ganter, his gaze dropping. “We received a transmission from Cassa that might interest you. A power drain near the city of Yare has led to the discovery of an unknown energy source beneath the waters of a local lake.”

“What?” said Byron, glancing at his tablet. Preoccupied with the alien ship, he’d failed to read the latest news from Cassa.

“I checked and it occurred the same time as your power drain.”

Byron leaned back in his chair. Simultaneous surges on planets residing in different solar systems?

“Damn! Why has no one on Cassa contacted me?” said Byron, tapping furiously on his tablet.

“I suppose they haven’t linked the two events together.”

“Idiots,” Byron mumbled, his attention on his tablet as he composed a message to High Command.

“You suspect a connection?”

Pausing, Byron flashed the commander a scowl. “Ever since we discovered the similarities between Cassans and Tgrens, our scientists have posed the theory that we were both seeded races.”

Ganter guffawed. “Do you really believe that?”

“If they discover an alien ship at the bottom of that lake, I will! As soon as I send this message to High Command, I’ll have my scientists look for a transmission aimed at Cassa.”

“Keep me posted,” said Ganter, shaking his head. “If that’s true, then this will rewrite history.”

“And then some.”

His mind mulling over the implications, Byron finished composing his message to the Cassan High Command. Reading the message once, he sent the dispatch.

Setting down his tablet, Byron leaned back in his chair. His hands curled around the armrests, taking comfort in the padded frame. After the events of the past two days, the worn chair provided a link to the familiar. If his suspicions proved to be true, then everything in his world was about to change.

Leaping to his feet, Byron grabbed his tablet. Officer Mevine? he thought as he strode toward the door.

Commander?

I believe I know the location of one transmission.

Uttering a cry, Bassan clawed at the weight restraining his body. He managed to toss it aside and cool air touched his skin. Feeling exposed, he kicked his legs and pushed his back against an unyielding surface. The confusing images ceased their attack on his mind and began to fade. Sweat dripped down Bassan’s face, stinging his eyes. Gasping for air, his chest heaved under his damp shirt, and he tried to get his bearings.

Bassan?

The sound of his father’s voice in his head caused Bassan to jump. He tried to respond but couldn’t form a coherent thought. His door slid open and Bassan uttered another cry.

It’s just me, his father thought, moving toward the bed.

The light from the main room cast strange shadows in his room, making his father’s form just a dark silhouette. Bassan clutched at the bed sheets as his father sat down on the bed. The terrifying visions were gone, but his heart still raced.

Are you all right? his father thought.

A hand touched his knee. The sensation sent a jolt through his body. The familiarity of the touch overrode his fear though, and Bassan threw his arms around his father’s neck. He gasped as strong hands pressed against his back.

You’re soaked!

He pulled closer to his father, too afraid to speak. The images no longer pounded terror into his head. It was just a nightmare, albeit a very vivid one. Eyes closed tight, he forced his mind to suppress all memory of the dream.

It’s all right, his father thought. Bassan felt a hand stroke the back of his head and drew strength from the comforting touch. Shh. Don’t wake your mother.

I woke you, thought Bassan, afraid his father would be angry.

I just got home.

His father released him. Bassan grasped at his arms, afraid his father would leave him.

Bassan, I’m right here. A hand stroked his head. It’s all right. Just a bad dream.

His sight adjusted to the light. Bassan stared at his father’s face, surprised by the compassion reflected in his eyes. Those steel blue orbs were often so cold.

Better now?

Yes, sir, thought Bassan.

Good. Now, let’s get you into some dry clothes.

His father helped Bassan change out of his drenched sleepwear. The air chilled his damp skin, and he eagerly wiggled into fresh clothes. His father retrieved the covers he’d kicked off the bed and tucked them around Bassan’s body.

Think you can go back to sleep now?

Pulling the covers to his chin, Bassan nodded. Yes, sir.

His father smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. Sleep well.

Bassan watched as his father retreated from the room. The moment the door closed, his fear returned.

No, it was all a dream, he thought, pulling the covers tight around his chin. A bad really dream.

Inhaling deeply, Bassan forced his body to relax.

Drent approached Bassan during their break between classes the next day. “My father didn’t even come home last night,” he said. “Did yours?”

Bassan kept his chin down. “Yeah, but it was late.”

“Something is going on. I heard no one’s allowed near the alien ship right now.”

“No one?”

“No one! Something happened yesterday. Something big. And I’m sure it has to do with the power drainage. What do you think?”

Bassan kept walking, unable to form of a suitable answer. He hadn’t picked up anything in his father’s thoughts last night. His only memory of the evening centered on the horrible dreams that invaded his head.

“Hey!”

A hand came down on Bassan’s shoulder. Startled, he stopped and stared at his friend.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Drent demanded, his nose wrinkled as if in disgust.

Shielding his thoughts, Bassan shook his head. “Nothing, I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Oh,” said Drent, dropping his hand. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“I just did.”

Free from his friend’s grasp, Bassan trotted toward their classroom. He heard Drent’s exclamation of surprise, but didn’t stop. Clutching his computer tablet to his chest, he entered the room and scanned the rows. One end seat remained in the last row and Bassan hustled to claim it. Feeling a sense of relief, Bassan sunk down in his seat. He wanted to avoid further questions regarding his lack of enthusiasm. Drent wouldn’t understand.

When his classes ended for the day, Bassan felt his mother’s touch.

Bassan, I’ll be there in a few minutes. We’re going to see your great uncle.

Anxiety gripped his chest. Yes, Mother, he answered out of obedience.

He’s doing better and would very much like to see you.

Bassan sighed and stepped outside to wait for his mother. He liked his great uncle. He’d worried when he found out Orellen had been injured in the attack. Picking up on the images in his mother’s mind, Bassan knew what to expect when he saw his uncle in person. He could handle the experience. It was viewing the city of Ktren in ruins after the attack that bothered him.

He said little as their transport navigated through the security checkpoint, pretending to be engrossed with his studies. When the city began to fly by the large windows, Bassan stole a quick glance. He didn’t see any damage. Feeling brave, he continued to watch the sandstone buildings as the transport passed through Ktren.

They rounded a corner and Bassan’s spirits sank. A row of buildings, reduced to rubble, lay strewn across the road. Men and women were working to remove the broken sections, piling the smaller pieces of stone on a large cart. Were there people in those buildings when they collapsed? The thought sickened him.

The transport came to a halt outside a large building. Bassan followed his mother inside and up a flight of stairs. Holding his computer tablet to his chest, he took a deep breath before entering his uncle’s room.

Uncle, I’ve brought a visitor, his mother thought, stepping aside so the occupant of the bed could see him. Bassan moved closer, his gaze on his uncle.

Good to see you, my boy, his uncle thought.

Bassan paused at the foot of the bed. Good afternoon, sir, he thought, trying not to stare at the bandage around the man’s head. At least no blood was in evidence. He didn’t fare well around blood.

I swear you look more like your father every time I see you, his uncle thought.

Bassan nodded, aware of the similarities. His mother touched his face, her fingers prompting him to look up at her.

I think it’s a good thing, she thought, winking at Bassan. His mother’s hand dropped and she turned to face her uncle. We can’t stay long. The base is still on full alert. And I have a briefing this evening.

I wonder who I’ll stay with tonight, Bassan thought, his shoulders slumping. The only time he saw his room now was when he went to bed.

Have the locations of the transmission been discovered?

His uncle’s question caught Bassan’s attention. He focused on his mother, eager for the answer.

I believe they’ve narrowed down the sources, his mother thought, placing her hands on her hips. I’ll know more tonight, but one was indeed Cassa. A ship similar to the one residing in our mountain was discovered buried at the bottom of a lake on Cassa.

So after all this time they’ve finally found a connection between our races? his uncle thought, his uncovered eyebrow arching.

It could be more than just a connection.

I always wondered if we were from the same stock.

Bassan’s fingers tightened around his tablet. Were Cassans and Tgrens really the same race? Was the merging of the two races less strange than his classmates suggested?

Uncle Orellen’s gaze shifted to Bassan. And you are living proof, my boy.

Glancing at his mother, Bassan offered a hesitant smile, still trying to conceal his excitement. If the two races were indeed one and the same, then perhaps the other children would view him differently. The seven children of Cassan-Tgren pairings wouldn’t be considered second-class citizens anymore.

They departed a few minutes later. The return trip through Ktren’s streets didn’t even register with Bassan. His mind mulled over the news, eager to inform the other children. He and Drent wouldn’t have to fight for the respect due the sons of high-ranking officers. His friend always chided him for not playing the commander’s son card more often. Well, Bassan was ready now. The next boy who teased him for being a half-breed…

“Bassan?”

Startled by his mother’s voice, he spun to face her. She frowned, her eyes troubled.

“Do the other children give you a hard time because you are half Tgren?”

Bassan stared at his mother, unable to move. He hadn’t meant for her to hear his thoughts. Despite the jabs from his classmates, Bassan never wanted his parents to know he endured teasing on account of his mixed heritage. It wasn’t their fault. He needed to be stronger and fight back.

His mother placed an arm around his shoulders and pulled Bassan closer. He allowed his mother to hug him, pretending indifference even as he reveled in her soothing thoughts.

You are to be proud of your Tgren heritage, she thought, her hand stroking his head. We may not be as advanced as the Cassans as far as technology is concerned, but our mental powers are stronger. And since your father possesses abilities beyond the average Cassan, you’re probably ten times stronger than the other children.

Bassan had never considered that possibility. You think so?

You are due for testing soon. I’m confident those tests will reveal traits similar to those your father and I possess. Which means you will be stronger than any of those Cassan children.

Pulling himself free, Bassan stared up at his mother, his heart full of hope. I’ll be stronger?

His mother smiled and stroked his cheek. Much stronger.

Then why can’t I shield better? Bassan thought, still bothered his mother had heard him.

You’re good at shielding, his mother thought, a laugh escaping her lips. I’m just very good at listening for my son!

Bassan moaned. His mother still heard his mind despite his efforts. He’d never enjoy total privacy. His mother laughed again and held him close.

You are your father’s son, she thought, kissing the top of his head.

I wonder if father feels the same? Bassan thought, careful to shield that stray thought from his mother.

Chapter Six

Athee slid into her seat and adjusted the chair’s position. She glanced around the table as the others sat down. The mood was heavy and serious, and rightfully so. Turning her attention to Byron, his neutral expression signified to Athee that he was all business tonight. Adjusting the position of her personal tablet on the table, she waited for the meeting to commence.

“Before we begin,” said Byron, leaning forward on the table, “I want to assure all of you there has been no change in the alien ship since yesterday. All systems are online, but the ship isn’t powered for flight. We have permitted a skeleton crew of scientists to return to their stations to gather more information. Should anything change, we will notify you at once.”

“Commander, what triggered the ship’s functions?” asked a visiting prefect, his thick fingers tapping the table’s surface.

Byron’s brows came together. “We are still working on that, prefect.”

“What about the transmissions?” someone else asked.

Patience, Athee thought, hoping her mate could control his temper during this meeting. She was grateful only half of the prefects were able to attend. The number was small enough for Byron to control.

“We have confirmed ten sources,” said Byron, his voice calmer than Athee had expected. “One is located on Cassa, in a ship similar to the one here on Tgren and buried beneath a body of water. Crews are working to reach the vessel now.”

“Another vessel? Does this mean your race was an experiment similar to ours?”

Athee noted the increased tension in Byron’s mind, which matched the wrinkles across his forehead. He was having a difficult time with this new development.

“It would appear so.”

Several men murmured and the mood of the room shifted. Athee focused on the reactions, hoping to gain an advantage. She might be Tgren, but her allegiance lay with Cassa as well. And with her mate.

“We’ve pinpointed several other locations,” said Byron, his commanding voice breaking through the chatter. The men grew quiet and turned their attention to Byron. “We’ve confirmed that transmissions were sent and received from the home worlds of the Fesell, Arellens, and Narcons. The Fesell have sent word of the discovery of an alien ship on their planet as well. My senior science officer is working to confirm the other transmissions, but he believes all ten races are involved.”

Gasps of disbelief emitted from those present, and the men began urgent conversations with their neighbors. Informed of the development before the meeting, Athee understood the impact it would have on the races involved. Until today, only the Tgrens were an experiment of the alien race. Now it appeared all were seeded by the unknown entity. That would not sit well with several of the races.

“So does that mean we are all related?” one man asked, his voice rising above the others.

“It is a possibility,” said Byron, his fingers tapping on the table.

A burst of indignation from the man beside her caused Athee to jump.

“Are you saying we are related to the races that attacked our cities?” Enteller demanded.

“We’ve not confirmed that, but it is a possibility.”

Enteller uttered an expletive and sank back into his chair. His brief moment of interest was replaced with apathy once again and his gaze drifted to the table’s surface.

“Prefect Enteller,” said Byron with a scowl of disgust, “believe me, the last thing any Cassan wants to hear is he’s related to the Vindicarn. We’ve warred with that race for years, losing many good men in the process. Our scientists are working on that theory.”

“Well,” said Anchore, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “We might all be seeded races, but I find a physical relationship hard to believe, not to mention repulsive.”

Athee’s mouth opened, stung by the man’s callous words. How dare he make such an ignorant, sweeping statement? She managed to hold her tongue and turned to Byron for his response.

Leaning back in his chair, Byron raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?” he said. “I believe the children of Cassan-Tgren pairings support the theory that our races are similar and quite possibly related.”

The man’s arms dropped and he cast a wary glance in Athee’s direction. She clenched her fists under the table, trying not to scowl in response. To her credit, she was partially successful.

“Other races have paired as well, although it is rare,” said Byron, shifting the attention away from Athee. “I agree a strong physical connection between all ten races is unlikely. Where our enemies are concerned, no connection is preferred. In the meantime, the reason for the revival of the alien ships, and the transmissions sent, is far more pressing.”

“They still don’t know what caused it?” said Ubarce.

Byron shook his head. “If they can transcribe the transmissions, we might find an answer. Unlike the previous transmission, these were an exchange of data rather than just a single message.”

“What if the probe returns?” someone asked.

Athee shot Byron an alarmed look, her muscles tense. The alien vessel had sought to confirm the development of the Tgren’s mental powers twenty years ago. Athee recalled the searing pain in her head when the probe scanned her mind, and her scalp itched at the memory. Satisfied with its findings, the ship had returned to deep space. What would it seek if it appeared again?

“We’ll deal with that situation when and if it occurs,” said Byron. “Right now we are more interested in the reason for the alien ship’s resurgence to full power. Our scientists have returned to the site, and work will also begin on Cassa once they have gained access to the ship. The Fesell entered their ship this morning. They will keep us updated on their progress.”

“But will you keep us updated?” Anchore demanded. “We joined your alliance and deserve to know what is happening.”

Byron’s mood shifted to one of irritation and Athee hoped she was the only one to detect his anger. She fidgeted in her seat, hesitant to touch his mind. The commander might be her mate, but Athee didn’t possess the authority to interfere.

“We will keep you abreast of developments as they occur,” said Byron, his voice strained but calm. “Since I am currently pressed for time, updates will be sent to all of you at least twice a day. If there is breaking news, my liaison officer will contact you directly.”

They pester me often enough anyway, Athee thought. She leaned forward and glanced around the table. Several prefects met her gaze and appeared to be satisfied with the arrangement.

“If there are no further questions,” said Byron, straightening his back, “I need to meet with my senior scientist. We will notify you if he’s discovered anything new.”

“Thank you, Commander,” said Prefect Ubarce.

A couple others offered words of appreciation. Athee suspected it wasn’t a sentiment shared by all, but no further objections surfaced as the men rose to depart. Slipping out of her chair, Athee found herself confronted with questions from concerned prefects. Her progress to the exit was slow and she grew impatient when she noticed Byron leave the room. Fielding two more questions, Athee excused herself and darted out the door before anyone else stopped her.

Nodding at the security officers waiting to escort the prefects to the hangar, she began a fast trot down the hall. Rounding two corners, Athee finally caught up with Byron.

You were quick to escape, he thought as she fell in beside him.

Not as quick as you!

Byron glanced at her. I know my limit. I wanted to end that conference before someone suggested we were to blame for the situation with the alien ship. I heard that accusation enough twenty years ago.

Is that why you didn’t tell them the ship accessed information from the science officer’s computer?

Yes, thought Byron. If they knew of the connection between the ship’s resurgence of power and their signing a declaration of war, I’d never hear the end of it.

Athee’s indignation returned. How dare Anchore imply our union, and the son it produced, is repulsive!

Not all Tgrens are willing to accept the mixing of our races.

Nor all Cassans! Did you know the other children tease Bassan, calling him a half-breed?

Byron’s pace slowed. No, I didn’t. He told you that?

No, I overheard his thoughts after we visited my uncle. He’s kept it hidden out of guilt.

They reached the central lab’s door and Byron turned to face her. Guilt?

Allowing her arms to drop to her sides, Athee raised her chin and met his gaze. He’s ashamed that the commander’s son can’t stand up to them and defend his honor.

Byron’s controlled expression didn’t change, but his emotions churned within his mind. Before Athee could form a lock on one particular thought, Byron slammed his hand against the press plate. The lab door opened and he entered the room at great speed. Athee had to move quickly to keep up with his long strides.

They found Mevine at the central station. The scientist’s fingers moved over two keypads at once, his gaze on the center computer screen. He glanced over his shoulder as they approached. Punching a few more keys on each pad, Mevine sat up straight.

“Commander, we have the location of nine of the transmissions now,” he announced.

“The remaining races’ home worlds?” said Byron.

Mevine nodded. “We can even pinpoint the exact location on each planet.”

“Send me the information so I can forward it to High Command. They can confirm the presence of alien ships with the Charren and Arellens.”

“Sir, how will we verify that information with our enemies?”

Byron’s brows came together. “I’m going to let High Command worry about that.”

“We need to confirm the existence of an alien ship at every location,” said Mevine. He propped up his elbow on the station and rubbed his right temple. “We ought to have every race working on this problem.”

“I doubt the Vindicarn will put the war aside just to analyze an old alien ship for us.”

Mevine moaned and covered his eyes. “You’re probably right.”

Noting his drooping posture, Athee reached for his arm. His thin limb trembled under her fingertips.

“Mevine, you need to get some rest tonight,” she said, concerned he would work himself to death. Driven by curiosity and a transparent desire to please his commander, Mevine often pushed himself too far.

“There’s still so much work to be done…” Mevine said, glancing at the computer screens.

“What about the tenth transmission?” said Byron.

Surprised by his indifference to Mevine’s condition, Athee released the man’s arm and stared at Byron. His gaze remained locked on the senior scientist.

Spinning his stool to face Byron, Mevine’s hands dropped to his lap. “Sir, that transmission went into deep space.”

Misgiving flooded Athee’s body like a heat flash and she almost dropped her tablet.

“Which direction?” said Byron.

Mevine swallowed hard. “In the same direction it did twenty years ago.”

Athee gasped and brought an involuntary hand to her mouth. The signal went out to the probe. Fear tightened across her chest, threatening to choke the air out of her lungs. Athee turned to her mate, desperate for a word of comfort.

Byron’s chin rested on his chest, his eyelids closed. Athee tried to touch his mind, but his shields were locked tight, permitting no thoughts to enter or leave. She looked to Mevine, but his eyes only mirrored her apprehension.

“I wish I had better news…” Mevine said, turning his hands palm side up.

“Officer Mevine, has your team translated the transmissions?” said Byron, his voice devoid of all emotion. His head was still down but his eyes were now open.

“We’re very close, sir,” said Mevine, sitting up straight. “The same message was sent to all ten locations, although it wasn’t necessarily to activate the other ships. It contained information regarding the Tgrens themselves. We hope to decode the entire transmission within the next few hours. I’ll work all night if I have to.”

Byron’s head jerked up. “Send me the information on the transmissions’ locations at once. I expect the full translation in three hours, understand?”

Mevine nodded. “Yes, sir! I’ll get back to work at once.”

Recovering her initial shock, Athee turned to Byron. Only three hours? She feared Mevine would collapse from exhaustion. They needed the information but not at the cost of the senior scientist’s health or mental capacity.

“And if you don’t have the translation within that time frame, you are to put your best man on it and go home.”

Mevine’s entire face fell. “But sir…”

“Mevine, you are to get some rest. And yes, that is a direct order. Don’t make me enforce it.”

Athee could not recall ever having seen a more stunned expression on the science officer’s face. He managed to mumble an affirmation, his lips fumbling with the words.

She followed Byron from the lab, her own thoughts rather numb. How would they stop the alien craft this time?

I want you to inform the prefects of the nine transmissions, Byron thought as they traversed the hallway.

Not the tenth?

They’re smart enough to realize the tenth went to the probe. I know they think they are entitled to all information, but damned if I’m going to cause a panic. Not until we know the details of the message.

Byron, she thought, trying to gather her wits. Her insides were awash with trepidation. If the alien ship returns, how are we going to stop it this time?

Hopefully the translation will provide clues. He glanced at her, his expression softer. And no, I wasn’t going to let Mevine spend another night in that lab. I need his wits to solve this problem.

I was worried you were being overly harsh, Athee admitted.

Only when I have to be.

They reached a split in the hallway. Before Byron could veer right and continue toward his office, Athee grabbed his arm. When he turned to face her, she discovered fear had frozen the words in her mind. Stepping closer, Byron gripped her shoulder. Athee noted a spark of determination in his dark eyes.

We beat this once. We can do it again.

She nodded with a confidence she didn’t possess. Her mate’s presence invaded her mind, supplying her with much needed assurance. Byron glanced past her, and then in a rare moment of disregard for protocol, he kissed her.

Hopefully I’ll see you in three hours, he thought.

Releasing her, Byron strode down the hall. His footsteps were loud in the empty corridor, growing dimmer as he increased the distance between them. Shaking her head, Athee turned in the opposite direction. She still had a job to do and twenty-five prefects to notify–and pacify

I wonder which of us will get home first, Athee thought.

A noise roused Byron. He tried to ignore it, too tired to move.

The sound grew louder. Beside him, Athee stirred. His eyes still closed, Byron lifted his head.

It’s Bassan! Athee thought.

Moaning, he pulled his body upright. His son’s cries were more distinct now. The bed shifted and Byron knew Athee was on her feet.

He’s having another nightmare, he thought, swinging his legs to the floor.

Byron followed her to Bassan’s room. At his son’s request, the door had remained open. Athee called for lights and the room flooded with brilliance. Squinting against the powerful light, Byron saw his son jump and almost fall off the far side of the bed. Moving at a velocity he didn’t think possible, Byron darted around the bed and grabbed Bassan before the boy slid to the floor. Once again, his son’s shirt was soaked.

“Lights, dim!” said Athee, reaching across the bed to steady Bassan.

Hey, it’s me! Byron thought, trying to calm his son. The confusion in the boy’s mind concerned Byron as much as his flailing arms and legs. Bassan, you’re all right. We’re here.

Bassan uttered another cry, softer this time, and he ceased his violent struggles. Athee moved closer as Byron pulled their son into his arms. She stroked his hair and whispered in a soothing voice. The confusion in Bassan’s mind subsided and he began to cry.

Adjusting his grip on his son, Byron looked up at Athee, at a complete loss. He’d tried to catch the nightmare images in Bassan’s mind, but they faded too fast. Whatever tormented their son remained locked in his mind.

Perhaps the attack on Ktren is causing his night terrors, thought Athee, still stroking her son’s head.

He didn’t have them the night of the attack though, Byron thought. A small arm curled around his neck, and he pulled his crying son closer. “It’s all right. Your mother and I are here.”

Bassan’s tears ceased, replaced by soft sniffles. Athee retrieved a dry shirt for him and fussed over her son as he changed clothes. When Byron pulled the covers across his son’s body, it occurred to him that the boy hadn’t spoken at all.

I’ll stay with him a while, he told Athee, settling on the bed beside Bassan.

Are you sure? You’re exhausted.

So are you, Byron thought, noting her drooping eyes. I didn’t even see him yesterday. I’ll stay.

Adjusting the covers around his son’s chin, Byron attempted a weak smile. “Hey, better now?” he said, resting a hand on Bassan’s head. His son nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“Can you tell me about your dream?” When Bassan shook his head, Byron frowned. “Nothing at all?”

“No, sir,” his son answered, his voice cracking as he looked away.

Bassan either didn’t want to remember or couldn’t. Even his mind seemed confused regarding the truth. Byron contemplated what to say next and recalled his mate’s earlier words. His cheeks tightened.

“Your mother told me some of your classmates give you a hard time because you’re half Tgren.”

Fear arced from his son’s mind and he met Byron’s gaze with wide eyes. The spark of panic ceased, silenced by mental shields, but not before Byron caught a flash of guilt as well.

“I’m sorry,” Bassan murmured, looking away.

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

Under the covers, Bassan squirmed. “Because I let them. Drent says I shouldn’t because I’m the commander’s son.”

“Bassan, it’s not your fault.”

“If I was more like you they’d respect me…”

His son’s words sent an ache through Byron’s heart. Was that the reason for the guilt? Because if he were more like his father his classmates wouldn’t tease him?

“Look at me,” said Byron, his tone catching Bassan’s attention. “It’s taken me years to reach this level of respect. It’s not something that just happens. Respect has to be earned and proven through your actions.”

Bassan stared at him and Byron suspected his son didn’t comprehend. Stories, he thought, forcing his tired brain to work. Bassan always liked to hear a story.

“You know, I found myself in a similar situation once,” he said. “My first assignment out of Cosbolt training was on one of the most prestigious flagships in the fleet. Pilots who served on the Sorenthia had many years of experience. I got the assignment because my navigator was the best in the fleet.”

“Bassa?” his son said, his interest peaking.

Byron smiled. “Yes, your namesake. And the other Cosbolt teams knew it. I was shunned and sometimes ridiculed.”

“What did you do?”

“Bassa told me I needed to earn their respect. I had to work harder and prove I was worthy to serve on the ship. It didn’t happen overnight either. But by the time I left, I had the respect of every man in the squadron.”

Bassan frowned and squirmed again. “That’s because you blew up the Vindicarn ship.”

“Because I was willing to do what no one else could and I didn’t give up,” Byron said, leaning closer. “I found the strength. So will you.”

“You think so?”

“And it won’t be because of me. It will be because of you.”

A smile appeared on Bassan’s face. Feeling triumphant, Byron tousled his hair.

“Now, get some sleep, and no more bad dreams.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bassan wiggled farther under the covers and turned on his side. Confident his son would be asleep soon, Byron dimmed the lights and returned to his own bed.

At least I accomplished something today, he thought.

Byron entered the main facility just as light dawned across the valley. Several others were present, but the building was quiet. He arrived at his office and dropped into his chair. Rubbing his eyes once, he reached for his keypad.

Let there be some good news this morning, he thought, retrieving his messages.

The one from High Command demanded his attention first. Byron scanned the message, which confirmed the discovery of an alien ship on several planets. The response from the Narcons brought a short bark of laughter from his lips.

Yes, we planted the ship as a secret weapon, he thought, scowling at the screen. Like to know how we managed that!

Annoyed, he returned to his list of messages. An urgent message from one of Mevine’s scientists caught his eye. Byron’s senior science officer had failed to decipher the transmission last night and placed one of his men in charge of the task as ordered. The timestamp indicated it was sent in the middle of the night. Byron punched his keypad and brought up the message.

He scanned the first few lines, which consisted of an apology for the rough and basic translation. Yes, get to the point, thought Byron, growing impatient. He skipped to the second half of the message.

‘Basic translation of initial message: Ten races at war. Transmission response from deep space: Initiating eradication sequence.’

He slumped in his chair, his body sagging as if dead weight. His mind went numb, and Byron stared at the translation. Eradication? The alien race now wanted to annihilate their experiments? They couldn’t stop the alien vessel with their weapons twenty years ago–how would they stop it now?

Damn, this couldn’t get any worse, he thought.

Snapping into action, Byron rose to his feet.

Byron? Athee’s voice echoed in his head. Sorry, I was getting Bassan up. What happened?

Are you away from him right now? Byron thought as he strode from his office. When his mate confirmed she was alone, he allowed her to see the message.

What? she thought, fear filling her mind.

I’m on my way to confirm the translation with Mevine. He should be in soon.

Two officers sidestepped Byron, offering belated salutes. He didn’t stop to acknowledge them.

I need you here as soon as possible, he thought. And keep your mind shielded.

I’ll be there shortly.

Byron entered the science lab and those present ceased their actions. Officer Mevine came forward, his eyes wide under his damp locks.

“Sir, I just got in,” he said with a gasp.

“Is the translation accurate?”

Mevine gestured to the closest computer. “I’ve been analyzing it and I’m certain he translated it correctly.”

Byron followed him to the station and looked down at the screen. “He sent me a basic translation. I want more details.”

Sliding into the seat, Mevine tapped on the keypad and pulled up a new screen. “I know the transmission from space sounds dire, but I don’t believe it’s absolute.”

“Is it similar to last time when the probe was searching for proper mental development?”

Mevine wrinkled his nose. “Not quite.”

Byron slammed the palm of his hand on the desk. “Mevine, explain!”

The science officer jumped and appeared to shrink in his chair. “Sir, twenty years ago the ship’s primary directive was to confirm development, and if that failed, then it went to a secondary directive of extermination. This time, it’s reversed. It appears the primary order is eradication.”

“Of all the races?”

Mevine’s fingers paused over his keypad and he glanced up at Byron. “We believe so, sir.”

Byron’s grasp tightened around his computer tablet. “You said it wasn’t absolute though?”

“The details weren’t readily apparent in the transmission, but there is a secondary directive. We’re still deciphering the message, which seems to involve all ten races.”

“I require a complete translation of those messages,” said Byron, pouring every ounce of authority into his words.

His science officer’s eyes grew wider, but he nodded in affirmation. Byron scowled at the screen. The alien symbols pulsated as if they were mocking him.

“This race may have created us,” he said in a tone just below a growl, “but I’ll be damned if they’re going to destroy us.”

Chapter Seven

Byron contacted the Nacinta before Athee arrived. Once she began notifying the prefects, questions would arise regarding the alien ship. He needed confirmation of the probe’s appearance.

“Commander, we’ve received no word of a strange ship in that area or detected anything unusual,” Ganter announced. “We’ll inform the Litheron and the Darentor, but scanning for a deep space probe will become secondary if the enemy advances. We just received word that a Torbeth vessel has joined the Narcon and Vindicarn cruisers in sector 119-322.”

“Three war ships?” implored Byron. He shook his head, stunned by the single-minded determination of their enemy. “With ancient alien ships on every planet transmitting unknown messages?”

“The Vindicarn probably think it’s a trick. The commanders of those three ships might not even know what’s transpired. I’ve been told the Narcon prefer their soldiers ignorant. Easier to control.”

“They won’t be ignorant when that alien vessel appears.”

Ganter crossed his thick arms, the crest of his nose wrinkled. “Commander, you’re sure this ship will arrive?”

“Yes, I am,” Byron said, enunciating each word and daring the man to challenge his assessment.

“We’ll scan for the probe. In the meantime, we are moving to sector 120-322.” The Nacinta’s commander leaned forward and reached for his keypad. “We’ll keep you posted.”

The screen went dark. Byron slammed his fist on the desk.

You were on the far side of Cassan space when that vessel appeared the first time, he thought, grinding his teeth. You weren’t here to witness the failure of all weapons against it. And even with our advancements, I doubt we possess anything that will damage it. None of the races control anything that powerful!

While Athee contacted the prefects, Byron met with his senior security officer and squadron commander. He wasn’t waiting for orders from High Command. His base needed to prepare for the reappearance of the alien craft, not to mention the potential for panic once the general population heard the news.

His computer pad announced a message as Mard and Hurend departed. Byron glanced at the sender and moaned. Prefect Enteller.

Didn’t Athee tell you I was busy? he thought. He tapped the screen and prepared himself.

“Commander Byron!” said Enteller, offering a threatening scowl. “I was just informed the probe is returning to destroy Tgren.”

I doubt that is what Athee told you, thought Byron, taking a breath to compose his thoughts. Enteller did not intimidate him, though. “Prefect Enteller, while the transmission did state eradication, it did not specify which planet or race and is to be considered a loose translation. The alien ship…”

“But it did mention all ten races at war.”

“It did.”

“If you hadn’t forced us to sign that declaration, we wouldn’t be a target. Our people could die because of our involvement in your war!” said Enteller, pointing his finger at Byron.

“Prefect, your people would be dead without our involvement,” Byron said, the force of his words straining his neck muscles. “The Vindicarn and Narcon attacked before you ever signed an alliance with Cassa and our allies. Without us, most of your cities would be in ruins now. Tgren does not have the technology to fight them, and with the allure of letrellium found on this planet, you are an easy target.

“As for the probe, our ships have not detected its presence. There is no need to panic based on a loose translation that may or may not be accurate. Officer Athee contacted you under the assumption that you could maintain order while we sort out this situation. Can you maintain order, Prefect Enteller?”

The man leaned away from his screen, his mouth open. Byron suspected he’d crossed the line, but he experienced no remorse. Enteller had been a thorn in his side for the past six years. The added insult that the Cassans were to blame just fueled the fire. Byron had dedicated over eighteen years of his life to the protection of Tgren, nine of those as commander. He wasn’t about to let a man with narrow views threaten the outcome of this planet’s fate.

“Prefect, this situation threatens all of the known races,” said Byron when Enteller did not respond. “My responsibility is to this base and planet, and I intend to prepare both for whatever might transpire. I require you to maintain order and not let the people of your city panic. I’m asking the other prefects to do the same.”

Enteller’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll maintain the peace. You damn well better find a way to stop that probe if it appears!”

Before Byron could respond, the screen went black. He clenched his fists, annoyed with the man’s reaction.

Damn, I wish Orellen was still in charge, he thought.

A message came through, chirping its urgency. Straightening his back, Byron punched the keyboard. Mevine’s face appeared.

“Commander, we’re running the exchanges between the alien ships through translation now, although much of it is coded in images.”

His word choice piqued Byron’s interest. “Images?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mevine with a nod. “And we discovered something else. The transmissions from the Tgren and Cassan alien ships carry a different notation than the others.”

“Different how?”

“They each contain a symbol not found in the other messages. It’s subtle, but worth noting.”

“Keep working on it, Officer Mevine. The alien vessel still hasn’t been detected, but that doesn’t mean it’s not headed in our direction.”

“Yes, sir!”

Mevine’s image faded from the screen. Byron rubbed his forehead, wishing the pressure beneath the skin would vanish. The stress of the past few days was beginning to drain his energy and he suspected the situation would continue to grow worse. They needed options and the promise of a solution.

Come up with something, boy genius, he thought, closing his eyes. You’ve never failed me before, Mevine. Don’t fail me now.

Athee entered Byron’s office, her feet barely able to keep up with her normal gait. The morning had not only drained her energy but a good portion of her hope as well. News of the transmission had sent more than one prefect into a tirade. She’d fielded their questions to the best of her ability and apologized to Byron for the ones who insisted on speaking with the commander. While she understood their reactions, Athee knew it served no purpose and only lowered morale.

Her confidence already dragging, the sight of Byron caused Athee’s spirits to dive further. She’d always envied the Cassan’s extended lifespan. They lived almost twenty-five years longer than the average Tgren. Longer life meant a much slower aging process. The changes in Byron over the years were subtle, as he’d maintained his muscular and fit physique. Today however, the lines of worry across his brow revealed the years were creeping up on her mate.

Forcing her shoulders back to stand at attention, Athee shielded her thoughts. She was about to speak when Byron’s computer signaled an urgent message. He gestured for her to sit and brought his fingers down on the keypad.

“Commander, we have successfully driven back enemy forces from sector 120-323.”

Ganter’s voice caught her interest and Athee leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the Nacinta’s commander.

“That is good news,” said Byron.

“The Torbeth ship pulled out first. Scanners show it is on its way back to its home planet. Once they departed, it was only a matter of time before the Vindicarn and Narcons backed down and retreated.”

“Considering everything else we are dealing with here, I’m grateful the battle didn’t return to Tgren,” said Byron, reaching for his computer tablet. “Any idea why the Torbeth were so quick to withdraw?”

Athee leaned forward a little farther. The Nacinta’s commander lowered his chin.

“Less than an hour ago, our sensors detected a heavily armored ship in sector 89-265.”

The probe! Her insides gave an involuntary spasm. Biting her lip, Athee turned her gaze to Byron. He did not appear surprised.

“Does the configuration match that of the ship that approached Tgren twenty years ago?”

Ganter sighed. “It does.”

Byron began tapping on his computer tablet. “Commander, where is it headed?”

Grasping the edge of the desk, Athee leaned forward as far as she dared. The commander’s expression was quite grim.

“It will reach the Torbeth’s home world tomorrow.”

It’s not coming here first? Athee thought. She regretted her words as Byron waved a hand her direction, shielding his mind from further interruptions.

“High Command knows?” Byron said.

“We sent a message not twenty minutes ago. Would’ve sent it sooner, but we were a little busy at the time.”

“Understood, commander. I will inform my science team.”

“Maybe the aliens are evening the odds?” Ganter said, a hint of sarcasm coloring his words.

“Somehow I doubt that, Commander.”

Byron ended the transmission, plunging the room into silence. He leaned his elbows on the desk, his chin down. The weight of the news pressed Athee farther into her chair, the reality of their situation pounding at her senses. That Byron appeared just as troubled bothered her even more.

After what seemed like an eternity, Athee cleared her throat. Byron lifted his gaze and offered a faint nod.

“I informed Officer Mard of the need for added security. Prefect Enteller issued a statement to the people of Ktren that could’ve used more candor. His words did not actively incite riots or panic,” she added upon seeing the look of disgust on Byron’s face, “but he did not handle it as well as some of the other prefects.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“However, several prefects have offered their full support and pledge to do whatever it takes to fight for Tgren.”

Byron sighed and rose to his feet. “Send me a list of the supporters. When this situation comes to a point, I want to know who I can rely on in a pinch.”

“I’ll fill out a report at once,” said Athee. Reaching out, she touched her mate’s mind. Are you all right?

His shoulders drooped and Byron’s gaze shifted to his computer screen. Too much at once. Not sure why I signed up for this job.

Athee rose and fixed him with a firm stare. Because you’re the best man for the position.

His eyes met hers. Some days I don’t feel it.

I have confidence in you.

Byron managed a faint smile, his thought reflecting gratitude. Well, I hope Mevine has some good news I can send to High Command. Once I’ve composed my thoughts, I’ll let you know what to tell the prefects.

Athee returned to her office. Resisting the urge to listen in on her mate’s thoughts, she retrieved the list of prefects from her computer’s database. She noted the response of each prefect and forwarded her report to Byron.

Her task complete, Athee contemplated what to do next. She could return to Ktren’s city council building and attempt to calm the nerves of Enteller and his staff. After her unpleasant discussion with the man earlier, that option did not appeal to Athee. She needed to await instructions from Byron before contacting the prefects regarding the latest development. While that task sounded even less appealing, at least it would keep her mind occupied.

Rubbing her hands on her thighs, Athee leaned back in her chair. She shifted her feet and adjusted her position. Glancing around the room, her gaze fell on a collection of images adorning the wall. Her uncle’s gentle smile caught her eye. Longing for some assurance from the man who’d helped raise her, Athee reached out for Orellen. She discovered he was awake.

Uncle?

My dear, I didn’t expect to hear from you today. Not after what’s transpired.

I’m sure you heard Prefect Enteller’s speech?

Annoyance stirred in his thoughts. Damned fool. Enteller has no tact.

Those words caused her to smile. Orellen could be very blunt as well. We’ve increased security in case of panic.

No reason to panic unless the alien ship returns.

Athee shielded her thoughts, afraid she would reveal the truth. Judging from his silence, her reaction wasn’t fast enough.

The probe has returned, hasn’t it? her uncle thought, his tone grave.

We haven’t announced it yet, but the Nacinta detected an armored vessel in sector 89-265, she thought, the weight of her words causing her chin to droop.

Sector 89-265?

Yes. Its trajectory indicates it is bound for the Torbeth’s home world.

Perhaps we will be spared since it’s already visited our planet, thought her uncle, his mindset more calculating than hopeful.

We don’t know yet, thought Athee, her fingers tracing the edge of her desk.

Well, you and Byron saved the planet once before. You’ll find a way to do it again.

Athee closed her eyes and shook her head. Her uncle wasn’t the optimistic type. He just expected the two of them to solve this problem.

Athee?

Her eyes flew open as her mate touched her mind. Uncle, I have to go!

Byron comes first.

Now, how did he know it was Byron? she thought. Yes?

Inform the prefects that the alien ship approaches the Torbeth’s home planet. Intentions hostile.

That’s it?

That’s all they ought to hear.

But, she thought, hoping for more. Mevine had no new information?

Nothing the prefects need to know.

Athee slapped her palm on her desk. Well, I want to know!

Byron’s mind was still and she bit at her lip. Athee had no right to demand information from him.

Mevine proposed that based on the data, it’s proceeding to the Torbeth’s planet because it is closest. If it continues on course and is systematic in its approach, the Arellen’s world will be next.

Where does that place Tgren?

We are fourth.

Her chest tightened. Recalling the speed of the probe, Athee estimated they had a week. Maybe ten days if they were lucky.

Contact the prefects. I’ll brief you in full later, Byron thought.

His presence vanished. Athee leaned her elbows on her desk and brought her hand to her face. Her spine shuddered and she clenched her hands together.

Don’t waste time on tears, she thought, reigning in her emotions. You have work to do.

Dropping her fingers to her keypad, she prepared to contact Prefect Enteller. Might as well get the worst one out of the way first.

Uncle, I hope you’re right, she thought.

Bassan tried to close his eyes. The images sped by in a blur, as rapid as a flashing light. He couldn’t stop the onslaught. The pulsating was stronger than any natural light and worse than the bright sun after a dark room. It burned his eyes without stealing his sight. Why wouldn’t the images leave him alone?

Frustrated and helpless, he uttered a desperate cry. He couldn’t endure the pain in his eyes any longer. Bassan threw his hands in front of his face, but the fiery onslaught continued. The speed of the images increased, blinding him. Searing heat dried his throat and lungs. Unable to take it any longer, Bassan’s voice welled up from the depths of his chest and he let loose a long, wailing yell.

The lights intensified and a viselike grip squeezed his arms. He fought back, terrified the images had manifested and were trying to pull him into the frenzy. Voices rose over the howl of the speeding pictures and the grip encompassed his entire body. Bassan cried out again, terrified this was the end. He didn’t want to die.

Bassan!

The voice in his head blasted through the nightmare images. The blinding light subsided and the frightening images faded. Forcing his eyes open, Bassan tried to focus on the strange view. He reached out with a hand and a soft fabric greeted his touch. A heavy gasp echoed in his ear.

Bassan, you’re all right.

Recognizing his father’s voice, he reached for the restraints around his body. Bassan wrapped a hand around an arm. Was that his father? Or had the images succeeded in capturing him?

Closing his eyes, Bassan gasped. Tears racked his chest, causing his entire body to convulse. His center of gravity shifted as his frame lifted from the bed. The sensation scared him even further and Bassan sobbed louder.

Bassan, please!

The fear in his mother’s mental voice shot through his heart. He didn’t want to frighten her. Bassan fought against his tears and forced his eyelids open. Dark blue fabric filled his line of sight. Reaching out his hand, he pressed his palm against the soft but firm surface. Sniffing to clear his nose, Bassan recognized the deep, musky scent at once. He resided in his father’s arms.

That’s it. Deep breaths. A gentle pat on the back accompanied his father’s words.

Bassan rubbed his eyes. The hold on his body eased and he peered up at his father’s concerned face. A hand alongside his cheek caused him to turn his head. Guilt clutched at his throat when Bassan noted tears in his mother’s eyes. He wasn’t ever supposed to do anything that would make her cry.

I’m sorry! he thought, uttering an audible sob.

Oh Bassan, it’s not your fault, she thought, stroking his forehead. You just scared us.

His father’s arms shifted. Pressed against his father’s chest, Bassan felt a deep sigh through his cheek. You’re all right now. Just relax.

After a few minutes, his father set him on the edge of the bed. No longer snuggled against a warm body, Bassan noticed a chill in the air. His shirt was damp yet again Had he really sweated so much it drenched his shirt? His father tugged off Bassan’s shirt and his mother pulled a fresh one over his head.

Come on, his father thought, holding up the sheets.

Bassan crawled under the covers. His parents settled on either side of him, adjusting the blankets around his body. They appeared so tired.

I’m sorry, Bassan repeated.

Don’t be sorry, his mother thought, placing a hand on his chest.

What were you dreaming? his father thought. Can you show me?

Bassan struggled to recall his dream. Other than a blinding light, he couldn’t remember. His father’s presence entered his mind, but Bassan couldn’t recollect the nightmare of the past few nights. His father frowned, his shoulders sagging.

I’ll take him to medical tomorrow, his mother thought.

His father nodded and Bassan cringed. What will they do to me?

They’ll talk to you, his mother thought, stroking his hair. Probably access your mind to discover what is scaring you.

No deep mind probe, his father thought.

Bassan suppressed a cry. That sounded more frightening than his dreams. I’m sorry! I’ll try to remember.

It’s all right, his mother thought, her tone soothing. Hopefully they can help you without resorting to that.

They better, thought his father, rubbing his eyes. Bassan, you ready to go back to sleep?

Yes, sir, thought Bassan. The conviction in his father’s mental voice set him at ease. He feared someone digging deep into his mind, accessing his private thoughts.

His parents told him goodnight, dimming the room light to the lowest setting as they left. Grasping the edge of the covers, Bassan pulled them tight under his chin. A chill ran through his body.

Why can’t I remember? he thought.

With the strange alien ship approaching, you’d think we wouldn’t have classes anymore, thought Drent as they stepped onto the large court.

It’s not approaching us, thought Bassan, falling in line with the other boys. Alarmed, he glanced up at his friend. Is it?

Not yet, thought Drent, placing his hands behind his back and standing at attention.

Bassan stared at his friend, waiting for details, but Drent kept his gaze forward. Shuffling his feet, Bassan assumed a similar position. I bet I’ll be the last to know, he thought, grumbling at that prospect.

The boys were divided into teams. Bassan was dismayed to discover Drent on the opposing team. He wasn’t very good at this game and the other boys almost never passed the ball to him. Without Drent to assist him, Bassan doubted he would even touch the ball today.

His team possessed the ball first. Three steps and pass. Bassan ran alongside his teammates, keeping pace with the ball. He knew he’d never acquire the ball, but at least he looked like he was trying. Three steps and pass. The ball kept moving, inching closer to goal. Bassan got into position, just in case. A moment later, one of his teammates flung the ball at the narrow opening. The ball whooshed through the round hole and bounced down the receptacle tube before emerging at the bottom. Their team had scored first.

Up and down the court they raced. Three steps and pass. Bassan was open several times, but no one bothered to look his direction, let alone pass him the ball. Growing impatient, he shoved his way through the crowd. Stepping in front of a taller teammate, Bassan shifted to the side. No one was guarding him. Noting the opportunity, he held up his hands and waved at the boy with the ball. His teammate hesitated, his eyes scanning the crowded court. Turning toward Bassan, he bounced the ball in his direction. Calculating the ball’s trajectory, Bassan stepped forward to catch it.

A rough shove on his left side knocked Bassan to the floor. He braced his body for impact even as his gaze remained fixed on the ball. The boy who’d knocked him to the ground caught the ball and turned to shoot at the goal. Bassan hit the floor hard, the force jarring his head. He gasped as much from pain as indignation. His own teammate had pushed him out of the way.

A buzzer indicated a break. Bassan rolled over and pulled himself to his knees. Placing one foot on the floor, he leaned on his leg and prepared to rise.

Guess you tripped.

Bassan looked up. The boy who’d knocked him down now hovered over him.

Klutzy half-breed, Senge thought, sneering at Bassan before turning to join the others on the sideline.

His father’s words returned to him. Find the strength. Anger welled up inside of Bassan. Clenching his fists, he launched himself at Senge.

Wrapping his arms around the larger boy’s middle, Bassan threw his weight into the motion. A burst of surprise escaped Senge’s thoughts as they fell. Bassan’s elbows slammed into the floor and he managed to adjust his position enough to avoid crushing his hands. His chin racked against Senge’s back bone, sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. Bassan uttered a muffled cry.

He didn’t have time to think about his aching jaw and elbows though. Serge’s body twisted and Bassan caught an elbow in the face. The force shoved him off the boy’s back, but his left arm lie trapped. Using his free hand, he swung at Senge. His blows connected, including one to his opponent’s face. The boy punched back, catching Bassan in the stomach.

Someone grabbed his arm. Bassan swung again, but this time he connected with empty air. Several boys had seized Senge and pulled him off Bassan. An arm wrapped around Bassan’s middle, holding him in place.

“Stop at once!”

Officer Tarcon’s voice drilled into his head. No longer able to reach Senge, Bassan ceased all movement. Moisture gathered on his upper lip and his stomach ached from the blows. Bringing his knees closer to his chest, Bassan reached for his nose.

“That is enough,” said Officer Tarcon, stepping between the boys. “Who started this?”

“Bassan jumped me!” said Senge, brushing off the restraining hands.

“You shoved me to the ground to get the ball!” Bassan countered, removing his hand from his nose. As expected, he was bleeding.

“Is that what happened?” Officer Tarcon asked, turning his attention to Senge.

The boy scowled. “I was just going for the ball.”

“I saw you shove him to the floor,” said the boy restraining Bassan. He recognized Drent’s voice.

“Is this true?” Officer Tarcon took a step toward Senge.

Bassan glanced over his shoulder. Drent’s anxious expression greeted him.

You’re a mess, Drent thought. He patted Bassan’s shoulder. Damn, didn’t think you had it in you.

Wiping his nose again, Bassan sat upright. Got tired of being called a half-breed.

What?

His friend released him and rose to his feet. “Senge, I dare you to call me a half-breed to my face!” said Drent, stepping over Bassan’s body.

Mevine’s son had everyone’s attention now. Senge glanced at his friends, as if looking for support.

“Drent, stand down,” warned Officer Tarcon, holding out a restraining hand.

“No, you wouldn’t dare call me a half-breed,” said Drent. “Coward!”

Senge leapt forward. Drent was ready for him and ducked as the other boy swung his fist. Shoving his shoulder into Senge, Drent began wailing on his classmate’s body. Bassan gasped, distraught that his friend was now involved in the fight.

The lights in the court grew bright. Bassan dropped his chin and closed his eyes. To his dismay, it didn’t block out the blinding light. Bassan’s heart pounded in his chest. The sound reverberated in his ears, drowning out all other noises. The light pulsated faster, sending images flying past his eyes. The same images as his nightmares. Engulfed in fear, Bassan cried out for help.

The light faded. Still unable to see, Bassan reached out with his hand. Someone grabbed his arm.

“Are you all right? Bassan!”

He gasped as the haunting images vanished from his mind. His body shaking, Bassan dropped his forehead to his arm. It was then that he realized he was face down on the floor.

“Officer Tarcon, something is really wrong!”

Bassan recognized Drent’s voice. He recalled his surroundings and pressed his eyelids together even tighter.

Don’t cry, he thought, balling his hands into fists. Not here.

Aware of the many bodies pressing closer, Bassan buried his face as a single tear dropped.

Please make it stop, he thought.

Chapter Eight

Byron strode through the double doors, his fingers locked around his computer tablet. The medical officer in the hall jumped at his sudden appearance.

“I’m looking for my son,” said Byron, reigning in his annoyance.

“Commander!” the officer replied, fumbling with the bottles in his hands. “He’s down here, sir.”

Byron followed the man, his boots striking the floor with force. He did not have time for this nonsense. The probe’s position within the Torbeth’s solar system was a far greater issue. The fate of an entire race might be decided within the hour. And here he was retrieving his son from medical because of a fight.

Why did I send Athee to speak with Ubarce this afternoon? he thought.

The medical officer paused and gestured toward a room on the right. Byron rounded the corner, still seething. His pace slowed when he caught sight of his son seated on the edge of the examining table.

“Commander Byron,” said the medical officer attending to Bassan.

The man stepped aside and Byron approached his son. Bassan lowered the cold pack from his face, revealing dark circles forming under his eyes. Every part of the boy’s body sagged, threatening to melt right off the table. Thoughts of remorse flooded from Bassan’s mind, tinged with embarrassment. Bassan had never appeared more forlorn or dejected. Viewing his son in such a condition caused Byron’s irritation to subside.

“How is he?” Byron asked the medical officer. He rested a hand on his son’s shoulder and Bassan cringed at his touch. Byron frowned, stung by the reaction.

“Sir, he’ll have some bruising, but nothing is broken.”

Tearing away from the pain in his son’s eyes, Byron turned to the medic. “His instructor said he was convulsing. He’s also experienced nightmares the past few nights. Any connection?”

“Sir, not one we discovered. We ran several tests and found nothing out of the ordinary. He’ll bruise under his eyes due to the hit on his nose, but otherwise he is fine.”

Byron nodded. The man returned the gesture and departed. Turning his attention to his son, Byron discovered Bassan’s head down. He squeezed his shoulder.

Father, I’m sorry, Bassan thought.

The tremble in his mental voice told Byron that his son avoided speaking for a reason. Byron shifted the position of his hand to the back of Bassan’s neck and pulled his head back. As suspected, tears had formed in his son’s eyes.

“Bassan,” he said, trying to find the words that would soothe his son’s nerves. “Your instructor told me what happened. I’m not mad at you.”

Bassan swallowed and a single tear escaped. Averting his gaze, he raised the back of his hand to his face. Byron gave his neck a squeeze.

“We’ll talk about it later. Now, Officer Tarcon said he’d sent your class uniform and tablet as well?”

Bassan pointed at a spot near the door. Locating his son’s bag against the wall, Byron retrieved it from the floor and assisted Bassan from the table. Draping an arm around his shoulders, Byron led his son from the room.

The medical unit sat next to the main building, providing easy access between the two. Byron was grateful his office resided closer to this end. He needed to check the latest development concerning the alien ship. Already the tablet in his hand held three messages. None had emitted an urgent beep upon arrival though, and Byron continued walking with his son.

Upon entering his office, Byron pulled one of the chairs into a corner behind his desk. “You’ll have to wait here until your mother can get you,” he said, indicating Bassan was to take a seat. Pulling the tablet out of the bag, Byron handed it to his son when he was situated. “Work on your studies and do not interrupt me, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bassan, his eyes on the items in his lap.

Byron grasped the hand that held the cold pack and lifted it to his son’s face. “And keep this on your nose,” he said in a gentler tone.

Pouring a glass of water, Byron set it on a shelf beside his son, and returned to his desk. He skimmed through the messages, noting one from Mevine. Saving it for last, he responded to the others before reading the transcript from his science officer.

Mevine found another transmission? he thought. Why isn’t this marked high priority?

Punching the keyboard on his main computer, Byron summoned the senior officer. Mevine answered without delay.

“Commander, I was just about to contact you,” the science officer said, his voice wavering with excitement.

“Officer Mevine, tell me more about this transmission,” said Byron, leaning forward on his desk.

“Sir, we tried to intercept a message sent from the alien vessel to the ship on Torbeth, but it was faint and out of range. However, our ship on Tgren and the one on Cassa just received a message from the Torbeth’s alien craft. We believe it involves all ten ancient ships.”

“All ten vessels?”

“Yes sir,” Mevine said, the view behind the science officer passing in a blur. “I’m up here at the ship. A single transmission came in, followed by nine going out. There was a pause and then another lone transmission.”

“And the origin of the single transmission?”

Mevine spun around. “The Torbeth’s ship. We’re already working on translations,” he said, the background changing yet again.

Byron rubbed his forehead. “Officer Mevine, can you hold still for a moment?” he said, distracted by the movement.

“Sir! My apologies.”

Mevine adjusted his computer and the whirlwind of scenery ceased. Gathering his thoughts, Byron touched the corner of his tablet. “What about the first transmission?”

His science officer leaned out of the frame a moment. “The ship’s com detected a single transmission.” Mevine reappeared. “It was just a trace though and we weren’t able to capture it.”

To Byron’s dismay, another scientist approached Mevine and his senior officer leaned away again. Growing impatient, he sent a private thought.

Mevine, hold still before I order someone to strap you to a chair!

The scientist’s face loomed large, his wide eyes occupying a generous portion of the screen. Sir, I’m sorry, he thought.

“Any idea as to the source of that transmission?” said Byron, resisting the urge to pull back from the giant face on his computer.

“Sir, we think it came from the probe. Due to the vast distance, we can’t accurately triangulate the source. But, if we were closer to the probe…”

“If we were closer, we’d be on the Torbeth’s home world, Mevine. And I doubt we’d want to be there. The last message from the Nacinta indicated the alien ship has taken up orbit around the Torbeth’s planet.”

Mouth slightly ajar, Mevine tilted his head away from the screen. The muscles in the scientist’s neck twitched, as did his jaw. After years of working with the man, Byron knew that expression. It did not bode well for the Torbeth.

“Translate those transmissions, Mevine,” he said, setting his right fist on the desk in front of him. “Find us answers.”

“Yes, sir.”

The screen went black. On cue, another message arrived. The report from Officer Mard was expected and Byron pulled up the information. He glanced once over his shoulder. Bassan appeared engrossed with his tablet. He still held the cold pack to his nose and right cheek, his shoulders hunched as he stared at his computer screen.

Good, Byron thought, turning his attention to the report.

Fifteen minutes later, an urgent message arrived from the Nacinta. His stomach muscles growing tighter, Byron answered. Ganter’s face appeared on his screen, the lines in his skin tight and pronounced.

“Commander, we were just notified of a communication from a Cassan scout ship patrolling the outer sectors of Torbeth space,” he said, his words slow and deliberate.

Grasping his armrests, Byron’s body tensed. “The probe launched an attack?” he said with grim certainty.

Ganter nodded. “The alien ship sent thousands of drones to the surface. Torbeth defenses eliminated over half of them, but there were just too many. The drones impacted the surface and burrowed toward the planet’s core. Our scout ship reported the temperature on the planet rose within minutes. As a result, storms formed over most of the planet, growing stronger as the temperature rose. The planet is dying from the inside out.”

Byron lowered his head. He’d often wondered the outcome of the alien vessel’s first appearance had it not found the proper level of development in the Tgren’s minds. The true destructive power of the drone was more frightening than he’d imagined. Running from a storm of that magnitude would be impossible. There was no way to evacuate the planet before Tgren was reduced to dust.

“Did anyone make it off the surface?” he said. They might be enemies, but the prospect of the extinction of an entire race was unthinkable.

“Several Torbeth battleships were in orbit at the time, launching an attack on the probe. The instability of the ecosystem made escape virtually impossible, but the scout ship noted several ships departing before the drones struck.”

“High Command knows?”

“They received the information the same time we obtained it.”

“Commander, did the scout ship record any transmissions from the alien ship?”

“I can find out.”

Byron leaned forward and snatched his computer tablet from the desk. “The ten alien ships communicated with one another not long after a faint lone signal was detected. If we could analyze that transmission, we might begin to piece together what the probe seeks. I’d like all of the information regarding what’s happening on the Torbeth’s home world as well,” he said, rubbing his right temple. They couldn’t evacuate even a tenth of the population of Tgren. “We need to start making preparations.”

Ganter cocked his head. “Preparations?”

Tapping his tablet, Byron pulled up the most recent information. “Yes, Commander,” he said. “Because according to our calculations, the alien vessel will travel to two other planets before it reaches Tgren. We’ll have barely a week to prepare.”

The Nacinta’s commander inhaled sharply. “Which planet is next?”

Byron rose to his feet and grasped the edge of his desk. “Arell. The Arellen’s home planet is next.”

Judging from Ganter’s expression, the thought of losing their longtime allies sickened him as well. The Arellens had only a few days in which to prepare for an extinction level event. The man nodded and leaned forward.

“I’ll get the information for you, Commander.”

The screen went black. Byron dropped his chin to his chest. A thousand emotions tore at his heart. Hundreds of thousands of innocent women and children would likely die today. And unless they could find a way to stop it, that force would reach Tgren in a week. Eventually it would reach Cassa. Plans were likely underway to evacuate the Cassan population to her sister planet, Harenna. But the Tgrens had no place to go. Even worse, they possessed no ships on which to escape.

His eyes closed, Byron’s other senses grew in awareness. The sound of rapid breathing reached his ears. He’d locked his shields in place when the Nacinta contacted him, afraid Athee would pick up on his distress. Now he let them drop just enough for an underlying current of fear to register. Recalling he wasn’t alone, Byron opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. Bassan stared at him, his mouth open. The items in the boy’s hands threatened to slide from his grasp.

“Are we going to die?” his son whispered.

Byron’s computer uttered an urgent beep. The information he’d requested from the Nacinta appeared. Reaching for his keypad, Byron pulled up the first message. Adding a notation to each piece of information, he forwarded it to the proper department with a mark of urgency. His men needed to work on a solution night and day if they were to survive.

Straightening his back, Byron glanced at his son. Bassan had not moved from his seat, but his spine now curled forward. The cold pack was on the floor and his hold on the tablet tenacious at best. It was the thoughts of utter despair that projected his son’s fear strongest. Bassan’s young mind just couldn’t handle any more pressure. After the past week’s events, he’d exceeded his limits.

You didn’t need to hear this, Byron thought.

Approaching his son, Byron crouched in front of Bassan. He removed the tablet from the boy’s hands and set it on the floor. Bassan lifted his chin just enough to meet his father’s gaze. The haunted look in his eyes tugged at Byron’s heart. That same darkness had greeted Byron’s gaze in a mirror at one point. He’d spent most of his childhood trapped in a facility for troubled children. With his parents dead, he’d no one on which to rely. Byron was determined his son would never experience a similar loss.

Wrapping his arms around Bassan, he pulled him to his chest. I promise, we won’t die, he thought, infusing his mental touch with conviction. Evacuation of his family provided some comfort, but not when compared to the lives of the remaining Tgrens at stake. Byron kept that thought hidden from his son though.

Bassan returned his father’s embrace. The relief in his thoughts extended beyond the knowledge they would survive. His son’s reaction in the medical facility returned to Byron’s thoughts. He’d instilled the need for respect and honor in Bassan, demanding proper behavior from his one and only child. Had he pushed his son too hard? Did Bassan dread retribution so much that he feared his own father?

I will do everything within my power to keep you and your mother safe, he thought, stroking Bassan’s hair. Don’t be afraid.

The chirp of an urgent message interrupted the silence. Byron suspected it would be the first of many this afternoon. Giving his son a final squeeze, he released Bassan and returned the boy’s tablet and cold pack to his hands. Patting his son’s head, Byron’s attention shifted to numerous tasks awaiting him.

I doubt either of us will sleep tonight, he thought.

Athee roused from a dreamless sleep. The sound of running water drifted through the room. Focusing on the noise, she reached out with her mind and discovered her mate in the bathroom. Byron’s thoughts were heavy as he prepared for sleep. Rolling on her side, she waited for him to join her in bed.

The gentle swoosh of a door sliding alerted her. Opening her eyes, Athee watched the dark form sink onto the bed and stretch out beside her. Edging closer, she placed a hand on his chest.

You’re awake? Byron thought, his hand covering hers.

I heard you come in, she thought. Athee pressed her check against his arm. Any news?

The Torbeth’s home world is uninhabitable right now due to the severity of the storms. The few survivors who escaped the surface fled to a military outpost on their orbiting moon. The alien ship left the moon untouched.

So only the home world is a target?

It appears so. The alien ship is on the move again and on course for Arell. The Arellens are scrambling to evacuate some of the population to their satellite and moon bases. Many will seek shelter in the fortified underground facilities scattered across Arell.

Will they even survive?

Byron’s head rolled so that his cheek rested atop her head. I don’t know.

He sighed and the sound echoed deep in his chest. The Narcon blame us for the attack, claiming we control the probe.

Indignation flashed in Athee’s mind. What?
That ship nearly wiped out Tgren twenty years ago!

Our allies are trying to reason with them. And establish contact with the Torbeth. But with so few escaping the disaster, their government is in chaos right now. The immediate danger lies in a possible retaliation from the other races. With Narcon and Vindicarn forces residing at the edge of our solar system, we are on full alert.

Athee’s fingers pressed down on his chest. All of the races were in danger. Didn’t they realize that?

What can we do? she thought, fighting her anger for Byron’s sake. He’d faced enough battles today.

Scientists on the allied planets are working nonstop to analyze the transmissions. We’ve shared every bit of information in our database regarding the alien ship here on Tgren and the probe. With so many working on the problem, we’ll find an answer.

Byron’s tone reflected confidence, but Athee knew better. Interlocked with his mind, she saw the shadows of doubt. They’d gotten lucky last time. What if Mevine and the others didn’t find a solution?

He patted her hand. How is Bassan?

It was a ploy to change the subject, but Athee jumped at the opportunity. Hopefully he sleeps the rest of the night, she thought.

More nightmares?

Yes, she thought. Her son’s terrified screams still resonated in her ears. It was late by the time I got him home and to bed. He slept maybe two hours before it hit. By the time I reached him, he was curled up on the floor and crying. I didn’t think I’d ever get him to go back to sleep.

Damn, sorry I didn’t get home sooner, Byron thought.

Athee curled tighter against her mate. I’m really worried about him.

The doctor didn’t find anything wrong with him physically. I would’ve asked for more extensive tests, but I was awaiting word on the alien ship.

I’ll take him in tomorrow, Athee thought. Her time would be limited, but she’d find a way.

If you can’t, it might just have to wait. The last thing I did before coming home was issue preparations for evacuation.

Athee lifted her head, distraught by the news. Her son needed help, but if Byron had ordered for evacuation preparations…

Athee, he thought mid-yawn. I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with anything else tonight. I’ve got to get some sleep.

Frustrated, she rested her head against his arm again. Byron’s fingers stroked hers and she drew comfort from the sensation. His hand ceased to move and his thoughts slipped into the void. Athee followed his lead and focused on nothing until the past week’s events no longer consumed her.

Scooping up a mixture of the warm, grainy cereal, Athee shoved it into her mouth. She scrolled through her messages, most of which originated from prefects. So many questions. This early in the morning, she had no answers.

Glancing up from her computer, Athee confirmed her son was eating. She’d tried to engage him in conversation, but Bassan just wasn’t up to talking. The last thing she wanted to do was pry into her son’s mind, but his continued silence worried her.

We’re returning to medical sometime today, she thought. At least I won’t have to pull you from your classes.

Byron had cancelled all classes this morning before he departed. She would’ve preferred the children were kept busy but understood her mate’s reasoning. If forced to evacuate, they needed everyone available.

The blast of a siren caused Athee to drop her spoon. On the heels of the loud air horn, her mate’s thoughts rang in her head.

Attack from the Vindicarn and Narcons. I need you here now!

Athee shoved aside her food. I just have to drop off Bassan and I’ll be there.

Her son straightened his back, his eyes wide.

“Bassan, get your tablet. We’re leaving now,” she said, running for the bedroom.

Athee grabbed her flight gloves and returned to the main room. Bassan waited by the door, his computer tablet in hand. She snatched her computer from the counter and raced to the door.

“What is it?” Bassan asked as she ushered him outside.

“We’re under attack,” she said, seizing his hand.

“By the probe?”

The sound of fighters overhead caused them to duck. Athee looked up and recognized the streamline ship of the Vindicarn, a Cosbolt in pursuit. She glanced at Bassan and tugged on his hand. His eyes reflected terror, amplified by the bruising around his nose.

Come on, she thought, pulling her son behind her.

Scrapping her original plans for her son, Athee led him to Mevine’s home. She pressed the door panel and called out to the occupants. A moment later, the door slid aside.

“Oh, thank you!” said Athee, pushing Bassan forward. “Can you please watch him?”

Andra nodded and stepped aside for Bassan to enter. Drent stood behind her, still dressed in his sleepwear. Bassan glanced back at Athee as he entered their home.

You’ll be safe here, Athee thought. I’ll let you know the moment we return. Turning to Mevine’s mate, she reached for the woman’s hand.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be back for him as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry about Bassan,” said Andra, her dark locks bobbing across her broad forehead. “Safe flying.”

Without another glance at her son, Athee released the woman’s hand and ran down the path. More fighters flew overhead, their engines screaming. She tried to follow their flight pattern while keeping an eye on where she ran. They disappeared into the low cloud cover, swallowed by the billowing haze. The sky rumbled from laser fire. Her arms pumped harder, propelling her legs the final steps to the nearest door. As she hit the entry panel, an explosion near the medical facility caused her to jump. She didn’t bother to look and darted inside the moment the door slid open.

The hallways were crowded as personnel ran to their stations. Athee dodged bodies left and right, her breath ragged. She reached the hangar and ran to the flight room.

She’d just finished dressing when Byron appeared in the open door. A loud explosion punctuated his appearance.

“We have to go!” he said, urging her forward.

Her suit secure, Athee ran after her mate. The hangar was in total chaos. Pilots and navigators were scrambling to reach their fighters. Athee almost collided with another pilot as she struggled to keep up with Byron. He bounded up the steps and she followed, sliding into the cockpit with haste.

Systems check!

Athee ran through each system with care. Years of training and experience had taught her not to skip any part of the process. A malfunction could cost them their lives.

All clear?

Confirming every step of the preflight, Athee answered. Clear!

Their Cosbolt moved forward. Athee navigated it into the launch tube, inching the craft into position. The door closed, plunging them into darkness.

Do we have help? she thought, terrified they were on their own.

All three flagships are in orbit.

His quick reply was cause for suspicion. And the enemy battleships?

Four are orbiting Tgren, Byron thought.

Athee grasped her knees even tighter. This was an all-out attack on her planet! And only Ktren boasted ground support.

Their Cosbolt shot out of the launch tube. Byron veered to the right, avoiding a collision with one of their own. Athee brought up her navigation screen and suppressed a gasp. Hundreds of ships hovered over Ktren; far more than she’d ever witnessed.

We can do this, Byron thought. Give me a target.

Two Vindicarn flew overhead and she passed the coordinates to Byron. The gravitational forces pulled at her body as their fighter rose to meet the enemy. Athee let her mate take care of the ships while she scanned the area for approaching vessels. The chatter from other navigators was incessant as they informed one another of jumps and maneuvers. She strained to catch every exchange, aware their lives depended on it.

Byron had no sooner disposed of the two fighters when another appeared on their tail. Athee calculated the odds and told Byron to jump. In a flash, they were behind their pursuer and Byron dispatched him with one shot. Her mate sent their Cosbolt into a nosedive.

Keep us below them, he thought, leveling the ship. We need to stay below the disrupters.

Athee selected another target, warning the closest Cosbolt of their intentions. The ship veered away as they rose to meet the enemy. Another Vindicarn ship bore down on them as Byron fired. Without waiting for his assistance, Athee jumped them to safety.

Keep track of our jumps, Byron thought.

She kept close tabs on the number of times they teleported. Sweat poured down her face inside the helmet, plastering her hair to the side of her face. In her haste, she’d not tied her hair back, and the loose strands threatened to obscure her view of the screen. More than once, she raised her gloved hand to brush them aside, only to remember her helmet prohibited such an action.

One jump placed them on the far edge of the battle. Athee performed a quick scan. Several shots had been fired at the mountain housing the alien craft. She relayed the information to her pilot.

We might have to dig them out later, but if they remain inside the vessel, they’ll be safe, he thought.

She didn’t need to delve deeper into his mind to understand. Mevine was inside. Her strength fueled by concern for their friend, Athee selected their next target.

Byron rose under the Vindicarn fighter, closing the gap quickly. She noted another enemy ship in pursuit of a Cosbolt just below them but otherwise all was clear. Her mate fired upon the Vindicarn vessel, requiring two shots to destroy the target. Athee shared his elation as he dispatched another threat and let the victory seep through her thoughts. She needed a boost of energy.

Dive! she thought, noting an enemy bearing down on their ship.

Byron obliged, the Cosbolt’s engines roaring at full capacity. Another ship signaled reentry beside them and Athee sent a frantic message to her pilot. He pulled hard to the left to avoid a collision and a flash of light streaked over their canopy.

Jump!

The teleporter engaged as another blast caught the side of the ship. Athee gasped as pain shot down her spine. Tiny bolts of fire raced through her veins and resounded with an eruption in her mind. She closed her eyes and leaned forward.

Athee!

Grasping the throttle for support, she gritted her teeth. What happened? she thought, forcing herself to respond.

You were just hit with a disrupter.

I can still hear you, though. Taking several short breaths, she pushed her body into an upright position.

You didn’t take a direct hit, thought Byron, but your mind is on fire and judgment impaired. We’re returning to base.

Her head rolled to one side and she fought to remain conscious. The battle continued in the sky as fighters darted in and out of the clouds. The enemy’s numbers were too great. They couldn’t just abandon the others.

I prefer not to die today. Or lose you.

The view outside the cockpit changed. Athee didn’t even try to help Byron with the jump. Within seconds, a slight bump indicated the Cosbolt runners had touched the ground. Sweat dripped into her eyes and she closed her lids against the sting. Athee’s head pounded although the pain in her spine was now only a tingle. She couldn’t imagine a full disrupter hit.

Before their Cosbolt came to a stop, Athee pried the helmet off her head. The cool air of the cockpit hit her face, erasing some of the salty sting. She removed her gloves and wiped the sweat from her eyes. Every part of her was drenched. Her skin itched, adding to her discomfort. By the time the canopy opened and Byron appeared at her side, she was more than ready to exit the craft.

“Easy,” said Byron, holding her arm as she rose to her feet.

She reached for his shoulder and lifted one foot. The toe of her boot caught on the edge of the cockpit. Her center of balance altered and Athee struggled to regain her balance. Byron shifted his weight and all but lifted her out of the spacecraft. Before she could form a protest, he scooped her in his arms.

“Just hang on to me,” he said, turning to go down the steps backward. “I’ll get you down.”

Athee clung to him, her face buried against his flight suit. His wonderful musky smell was mixed with a metallic, sweaty odor. She concentrated on his hands, holding fast to her frame, as they descended the ladder. A jolt through his body signified they had reached the ground. When a soft surface touched her backside, Athee opened her eyes.

“You take damned good care of her, understood?” Byron said, glaring at the two men hovering over her.

“Yes, sir!” one answered, adjusting Athee’s legs.

Bending over her, Byron grasped her hand and stroked her damp hair. “Do you need me to come with you?”

“No, you have work to do.” Athee squeezed his fingers. “Please let Bassan know we’re all right. Don’t tell him what happened though.”

“I’ll speak to him.”

He gave her a kiss on the forehead and released her hand. Athee kept her eyes on Byron as the medics whisked her away on the gurney. He didn’t move from his position until an explosion just outside the hangar shook the air. Her mate turned and strode toward the nearest exit, and one of the hangar crew ran after him. Her head ached too bad to listen in on the conversation.

Athee closed her eyes. I hope Bassan is safe, she thought.

“The enemy has retreated to the far edge of the solar system again,” said Commander Ganter. “We’ll monitor their movement. Meanwhile, High Command isn’t pleased with this development.”

Byron scowled at the screen, his fists clenched as he rested them on the desk. “I know they were hoping for a ceasefire, but High Command needs to know exactly what transpired here today.”

Ganter shifted in his seat. “They’ll know when they get my full report. I just sent it. We lost thirty-six men today. The Litheron and Darentor lost just as many. We were damned lucky to fight off four warships today.”

“I only have six squadrons, and right now nineteen Cosbolts are out of action for one reason or another,” Byron said, tapping on his computer tablet. “Including my own.”

“How is your mate?”

“No permanent damage. As soon as I’m finished here, I’m retrieving her from medical.”

“Finally, some good news,” said Ganter, offering an encouraging nod.

A beep from his door announced a visitor. Byron granted entry and Mevine stood in the doorway.

“Commander, let me know if anything changes,” he said, pointing at the chair in front of his desk. Mevine obediently took a seat, his computer tablet grasped in both hands. “I’d like to know High Command’s response to your report. I haven’t heard back yet.”

“Will do.”

The screen went black. Byron leaned back in his chair and released an exasperated sigh. High Command had no idea what was happening here on the edge of Cassan space. His report had highlighted the details though, including images of several Tgren cities in ruins. They were hit hard today.

“Mevine, if you have more bad news for me, you’d be better off leaving now,” said Byron, his gaze still fixed on his computer screen.

The scientist cleared his throat. “No sir,” he said, pausing to cough.

Byron turned to face his friend. “Mevine, are you all right?”

“Just inhaled too much rock dust,” Mevine said, rubbing his chest. “At least the cave didn’t collapse.”

“If it had, I’d be at the site right now, overseeing the excavation to dig you out.”

Mevine appeared surprised before he offered a faint smile. Traces of dirt were still in evidence around his hairline and his uniform was torn at the shoulder. He and his men were alive though, and that was all that mattered to Byron.

Grasping the arms of his chair, Byron leaned forward. “What do you have for me?”

Shifting in his seat, Mevine held up his tablet. “We have a piece of the puzzle. After analyzing the transmission from the probe, we believe it evaluated the status of the ten races. It’s also waiting for a response code.”

“Do we have the code?”

Mevine’s shoulders drooped. “No, sir. But I think I know exactly why the alien ship ordered eradication.”

Byron gestured with his hand. “Go on.”

Dropping his tablet to his lap, Mevine presented a grave face. “It has determined the grand experiment a failure.”

“A failure?”

“Think about it, sir. All ten races were seeded and the alien ships remain on their planets. When the Tgrens joined the war, a message was sent and the probe alerted. Based on the involvement and scope of the war, the aliens concluded all experiments a failure. That code is necessary if we are to convince them our situation has changed and we are worth saving.”

Mevine’s choice of words caught Byron’s attention. “How must it change?”

“The ten races must end this war.”

After a long day of fighting and dealing with the ensuing tragedy around him, Mevine’s statement reeked of irony. Byron laughed.

“Peace? After what we just endured today?”

“Sir, I know. But for whatever reason, war is an unacceptable element to the race that seeded our planets. Unless we can convince the probe otherwise, and we supply the correct code, it will systematically eliminate all ten races.”

Byron lowered his chin, his teeth clenched. “What gives them the right?” he said, thinking out loud more than posing a question for Mevine.

“I guess if we were just an experiment, they feel they can end it when necessary.”

Those words ignited a fire in Byron and he slammed his hand on the desk. “I don’t know about you, but I am more than just an experiment! And I don’t appreciate anyone sitting in judgment of us. Mevine, if you can spare anyone, find a way to contact this race, either through the probe or by another means.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mevine, holding his tablet to his chest.

Byron rose to his feet and leaned against his desk. Annoyed with himself for growing angry, he stared at his personal computer. Almost on cue, the screen flashed a message. Closing his eyes, Byron forced his emotions to subside.

“Mevine, just do what you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Byron fixed his science officer with a firm stare. “Glad you are still with us.”

Rising to his feet, Mevine offered a rare smile. “Thank you. Sir, how is Athee?”

Byron’s shoulders relaxed. “She’s fully recovered. I’m to retrieve her from medical as soon as we finish.”

“Sir, don’t let me keep you then.”

“Send me your findings,” said Byron, scooping his tablet from the desk. “And please tell your mate thank you for watching Bassan all day. I’ll pick him up after I retrieve Athee.”

Mevine waved his hand, his thin fingers splayed wide. “Sir, it’s no problem. I’m sure Drent enjoyed spending the day with Bassan.”

“They are unique, aren’t they?”

The science officer shrugged. “They’re just boys, sir.”

Byron dismissed Mevine and the sound of the door sliding into place plunged the room into silence. Taking a moment to enjoy the peace, he closed his eyes. Between today’s attack and the approaching probe, he could remain here all night. Byron wanted to see his mate, though–and his son. They deserved a moment of his time.

We get through this, he thought, moving toward the door, I promise I will spend more time with both of you.

Chapter Nine

Byron surveyed the destruction. Two buildings had sustained damage and one leveled to the ground in the housing section. In the distance, he could see activity, but a dark silence hung over this spot. Three Cassans lost their lives here yesterday, including a child. Byron understood death was a real possibility for military personnel, but losing family members was unacceptable.

You would’ve been safe on Cassa or Harenna, he thought, staring at the charred walls of the nearest building. If we can’t stop that probe though, no place is safe.

“How many homes were destroyed?” he said, turning to his security officer.

“Five family units total. The other two are higher up the hill,” Mard answered, pointing toward the mountain. “We lost a row of individual units as well, but no one was in them at the time. Everyone has retrieved their personal belongings and we’ve secured temporary lodgings for those displaced. The buildings officer says they won’t start cleanup just yet.”

“Cleanup can wait,” said Byron with a wave of his hand. “Right now, focus on preparations for evacuation and maintaining the peace. If we can’t stop the probe, I’ll want this base emptied before it arrives.”

Mard’s brows came together and he jutted out his chin. “Sir, I don’t believe we have enough ships to carry everyone.”

Byron kicked aside a stone before taking a step toward the main facility. “Commander Ganter has assured me safe passage aboard the Nacinta for every Cassan on this base. I’ve also requested use of the Doorthmore. The exploration vessel is close enough to assist with evacuations.”

“Sir, the Nacinta should more than suffice.”

Stopping in his tracks, Byron turned to face his security officer. “And what of the Tgrens, Officer Mard? Should we leave them here to perish?”

“No, but sir, we can’t save all of them.”

His gaze drifting past Mard, Byron scanned the city of Ktren, nestled in the valley beyond the base. Twenty-seven hundred people called it home. There were twenty-four other cities, similar in size, within the allegiance. Outside of that, another estimated fifty thousand Tgrens occupied the planet. Not enough ships in the Cassan fleet existed to carry Tgren’s population. Clasping his hands behind his back, Byron turned to face his senior security officer.

“Officer Mard,” he said, straightening his back to his full height. “The Tgrens welcomed us to their planet twenty-one years ago. They allowed us to occupy their land and mine for letrellium. We were allowed to explore the alien ship, which resulted in one incident with the probe already. They permitted the construction of a base and the integration of our races. They are our allies and worthy of our protection. The Tgren people deserve a chance at survival elsewhere. I will not deny them that right. We will take enough to ensure the Tgren race survives.”

Mard’s thick chest rose as he sucked in a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied with that answer, Byron resumed walking. The rumble of engines caught his attention. Byron noticed a shuttle approaching the hangar entrance. The prefects were beginning to arrive. He quickened his pace, more determined than ever to produce a plan that would save some of the Tgrens. The prefects would not be happy with his update today. Byron hoped his proposal would provide a small measure of assurance.

Athee, our guests are arriving, he thought as he entered the main building.

Just leaving medical, she thought. I’ll be there shortly.

Turning down a long hall, Byron entered the first room on his left. The empty room was a relief to behold. He needed a few moments to gather his thoughts.

“Sir, I will attend to the arrival of our guests and return when everyone is in place,” said Mard.

Byron nodded and his security officer departed. Scanning the large table occupying the center of the room, Byron contemplated his seat. Sitting near the door provided an easy escape when the meeting ended. As tempting as that sounded, he selected the chair on the far side. He wanted to observe each man as he entered. Considering the subject matter of the meeting, placing his back to any of these men might be a bad idea as well.

Sliding into the chair, Byron set his computer tablet on the table and checked the two messages that had arrived a few moments ago. The first had to do with provisions for their evacuation. Byron filed it away for later. The second originated from the Doorthmore and he held his breath as he scanned the short message. The exploration vessel had received permission from High Command to assist with the evacuation. They had only a one day window of opportunity though, and the ship would arrive three days ahead of the probe.

Setting down his computer, Byron pressed his head against the back of the chair. The Doorthmore would depart a day before the Nacinta. With limited shuttles at his disposal, that would work in their favor.

A noise in the hallway distracted Byron from his thoughts. He noticed Prefect Ubarce standing in the open doorway. Pleased to see the man, Byron rose to his feet.

“Prefect Ubarce, please come in,” he said, gesturing the younger man forward.

“I know I’m early, Commander,” said Ubarce, stepping into the room. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Not at all. I was just gathering my thoughts.”

Ubarce strode around the table, his narrow frame moving with ease. “I’d heard your base was hit hard yesterday. I saw some of the damage from the shuttle’s cockpit.”

“Several buildings were damaged or destroyed, including a couple housing units.”

Pausing by the chair next to Byron, Ubarce’s brows came together in genuine concern. “I am sorry. Officer Athee greeted me upon my arrival and I was pleased to see she’d recovered from her injuries.”

“We were fortunate it wasn’t a direct disruptor hit.”

“You’ve experienced it?”

Byron rested a hand on the back of his chair. “Yes, I have. Many years ago.”

“During what your people refer to as the Vindicarn War?”

Caught unaware by the man’s comment, Byron stared at Ubarce in surprise. Until recent events, even Enteller knew nothing about the Cassan’s war with the Vindicarn forty years ago.

Ubarce offered a knowing smile. “When I became prefect last year, I read up on your past, Commander. I’d already delved into the history of the Cassans, but I wanted to know more about the man who represented your race here on Tgren. I was impressed with your accomplishments during the Vindicarn War, not to mention what transpired here on Tgren twenty years ago.”

“All part of the job,” Byron said, dismissing the praise with a shake of his head.

“No, you were willing to sacrifice everything. You see Commander, unlike the other prefects,” said Ubarce, holding up his computer pad, “I know how to use this thing. I know what we’re up against. That is why I am glad you are in charge. And I promise, whatever you decide, whatever you decree, my city and I will stand by you.”

Dedication was expected from the Cassan ranks, but Byron was unprepared for such allegiance from a Tgren. Honored by Ubarce’s words, Byron offered a faint smile.

“You should probably wait until you hear what I have to say today,” he said in a gentle voice.

Ubarce’s eyebrows arched. “Most of us won’t make it.”

His statement was matter of fact, but it hit Byron hard. Unless stopped, most of the Tgrens would perish when the probe reached this planet. They were the only race without a means of escape, which further fueled Byron’s desire to save as many as possible. They needed to be the brightest Tgren had to offer and most likely to repopulate the species. That included the young prefect standing before Byron. Moving his hand to Ubarce’s shoulder, he stared hard at the prefect.

You’re right. Most will perish. You and your family need to be prepared to evacuate when I give the word, Byron thought.

Sir…? thought Ubarce.

Your people will need a strong leader. One with vision. One who doesn’t fear change. I have every confidence you are that person.

Ubarce swallowed, his gaze locked on Byron. His eyes held hope and an idealism that anything was possible. Many years had passed since Byron last enjoyed such drive and passion. Ubarce was the perfect leader for his people. The few that would survive anyway.

Byron raised one eyebrow in skepticism. You did say you would stand by my decision.

Shoulders relaxing under Byron’s grip, Ubarce offered a wry grin. Yes, I suppose I did.

Glancing at the open doorway, Byron released his grip. I will not announce it today though. There’s already too much for everyone to absorb.

Understood, Commander. And thank you.

The other prefects began to arrive, accompanied by security officers. Byron wondered how Ubarce managed to reach the room without an escort. When his mate appeared, she glanced at Ubarce and smiled. Byron quickly concluded Athee had pointed the man in the right direction. He’d not discussed his plan with his mate, but she had a way of picking up on the smallest ideas in his head. Another Tgren talent that required preservation.

When the final prefect arrived and Byron confirmed the presence of Officers Hurend and Mard, he called for everyone to take a seat. Giving them a moment to settle, he scanned the room. Agitation and fear were evident on the faces of those gathered, and their thoughts matched the prevailing sense of doom. While all wasn’t lost yet, Byron hoped the negative mood would move his proposition forward.

Rising to his feet, Byron rested his palms on the table. “Prefects, I thank you for coming. You all received a preliminary report regarding this meeting, so you know the situation is grave. I’m just going to lay it all out on the table. We’ll discuss options when I have finished. Agreed?”

Everyone either nodded or offered a word of affirmation. Glancing at the display on his computer tablet, Byron took a deep breath before continuing.

“We’ve confirmed the Torbeth’s home world has been devastated by a planet-wide storm caused by the probe. Unfortunately, we don’t know the exact conditions on the planet or if there are survivors. Our enemies blame the Tgrens and Cassans, claiming we summoned the alien vessel. Despite the attack on Tgren yesterday, the Cassan High Command and our allies are working to establish a truce with our enemies.

“The probe is now en route to Arell, and our allies are evacuating as quickly as possible. They also plan to make use of their elaborate underground facilities to house their people.”

Byron hesitated, his eyes dropping to his computer screen. “From there, the ship will move to the Vindicarn’s home world. After that, eleven days from now, the probe will arrive at Tgren.”

Frantic murmurs erupted around the room. Byron gave the prefects a moment to compose themselves. At least no one was shouting in indignation this time.

“As you well know, our scientists are working night and day to find a way to stop the vessel. We are even attempting to contact the probe and the alien race that created it. The information we’ve gathered has been shared with our allies, so we are all working toward a solution. If a ceasefire can be reached with our enemies, perhaps we can double those efforts.

“In the meantime,” said Byron, his fingers pressing hard against the surface of the desk. His stomach churned over the announcement, but he had no choice. “This base is preparing for evacuation aboard the Nacinta. The other two flagships will soon be on their way to Cassa to assist with evacuations to our sister planet, Harenna. The Nacinta will depart two days before the arrival of the probe.”

The room erupted in protest. Byron lowered his head, shielding his mind against the onslaught of fury and indignation. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he sensed Athee’s touch. Amidst the anger and confusion, Byron recalled a moment not twenty years past when Tgren faced a similar fate. He could still see Orellen’s face as the former prefect handed Athee over to him for safekeeping, aware that the rest of his people would likely die. Lifting his head, Byron glanced at Ubarce seated beside him. The man’s eyes contained the look of determination and he offered a nod of support. That was all Byron needed.

“Prefects, I know this is difficult,” he said, raising his voice over the angry protests.

The room fell silent. Byron pushed away from the table and stretched to his full height.

“I have secured the exploration ship Doorthmore for evacuations. It will arrive three days before the probe and can carry an additional two hundred people.”

“Two hundred?” someone shouted. “That’s it?”

“Two hundred aboard the Doorthmore!” Byron said, retaliating with his mental voice as well. “Another hundred and twenty aboard the Nacinta. If I can convince High Command to allow just one other flagship to remain, that will be another six hundred plus. And five thousand or more can take refuge in the alien ship as well.”

“How long could we survive in there?” said Enteller, his lips pulled back in a sneer.

“The alien ship is fully functional with its own life support. Sealed from the inside and protected by the mountain, you’ll easily survive a year or more if need be.”

“But what about the others? We just leave them on the surface to die?” an older man asked.

“Your planet has several extensive caverns,” replied Byron, aware it was a poor alternative. “They might provide enough protection if the storm is short-lived.”

“What about those across the great lake?” said a prefect at the far end of the table.

“They won’t listen,” another prefect growled.

Anchore slammed his fist on the table. “After they attacked us years ago? I say let them die.”

“But they are Tgrens,” said Ubarce, leaning forward in earnest.

“We will send ships to warn them,” Byron said in a loud voice before an argument started. “Just as we have warned our enemies.”

Enteller guffawed, his lips pulled back in disgust. “After what they did yesterday?”

“Prefects, I would like nothing more than to see the Vindicarn numbers reduced,” said Byron, his gaze meeting Athee’s for a moment. “However, we need every race working on a solution, which is why we are asking for a ceasefire.”

“If the war activated the probe, will the ship stop if a ceasefire is declared?” said Ubarce, eyes wide with hope.

Leaning forward, Byron tapped his computer pad. “We are working under that assumption. If the races can come to an agreement and declare peace, we’d just need a way to communicate that to the probe. My science officer said there is an encoded signal sent out by the alien ship that must also be answered. They are working to locate that coded reply.”

Scanning Mevine’s latest report as he spoke, Byron noted no new developments. He hadn’t expected a breakthrough in the last hour, although it would’ve added a measure of hope to today’s meeting. Mevine’s team was working as fast as possible. Byron could only pressure them so much; however, time wasn’t on their side.

Several men moaned and angry murmurs erupted around the table. Byron decided to take control before chaos ensued.

“Prefects, I do not want a mass panic,” he said, projecting his voice to silence the group. “I will not have the resources to enforce peace in every city if that happens. We need to keep the population calm and begin planning now–the actual evacuation doesn’t need to begin for several days.”

“How long did you say before the probe arrives?” someone asked.

“At its current speed, eleven days,” said Byron.

“I’d need to start evacuations within the next two days,” said one of the prefects, his words punctuated with a gasp. “The only caves capable of holding the bulk of my people are six days away.”

“Each of you will need to make your own decision as to when to evacuate.” Byron placed his hands behind his back. “Those traveling on the Nacinta and Doorthmore will need to be here in seven days.”

“Who gets to go?”

Enteller’s mocking tone caused Byron to frown at the man. If forced to evacuate, Byron would not miss the prefect one bit.

“In order to preserve the diversity of your people, you are each to select a dozen people from your city. It should be an even mix of men and women and the sharpest, most talented you have to offer. And,” he said, squeezing his fingers behind his back in anticipation of the objections, “no one over forty.”

The requirements caused a ripple of protests, both verbal and mental, across the table. Accusations of prejudice and unfair advantages flew at Byron and the mood of the room plummeted further. One spark of sorrow penetrated the onslaught and he glanced at his mate. His own thoughts were shielded, but he didn’t need to connect with Athee to realize she was upset her uncle didn’t qualify.

There are still twenty slots open, he told her in a private thought. I will do everything I can to ensure Orellen is on the Nacinta with us. If I can gain passage for your cousin and his family, I will make certain they are as well.

Athee nodded, the back of her hand brushing at one eye.

Scanning the room, Byron decided he’d had enough of the confusion. “Do you want to ensure your race survives or are you just looking to save your own skins?”

Delivered in a booming voice, Byron’s question brought silence. The prefects altered between staring at him and one another, casting accusing glances.

“Those are the conditions,” he continued, scooping his tablet from the table. “We all have a lot of work to do in the next eleven days. Our shuttles will be available on a limited basis for the next week. If you require assistance, contact Officer Athee. I will keep you updated as the situation develops. In the meantime, prepare for evacuation, maintain the peace, and send Officer Athee your twelve selections as soon as possible.”

Byron stepped away from the table and refrained from making a dash for the door. Several conversations began at once, and the prefects rose to their feet one by one. Byron caught Ubarce’s eye before the man departed.

Fill your twelve slots wisely and do not include yourself, he thought. Your family’s place is already reserved.

Ubarce acknowledged Byron’s request, his thoughts still skeptical. Byron harbored no doubts though. After dealing with the prefects during the past two weeks, he could think of no better man to lead the remaining Tgrens. If the probe destroyed the planet’s surface, and those in the caves and alien ship were lost, Ubarce would find himself the leader of three hundred and twenty-eight full-blooded Tgrens. Byron hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

After fielding a few more questions, the room thinned and Byron was able to escape. He’d ignored the grumbles and murmurs as the prefects departed, aware that several of the men reviled his decisions. Once in the hallway and away from the hostility, Byron let his long strides and heavy steps pound out some of his frustration. The prefects had no idea how hard he’d worked to acquire the Doorthmore just so more Tgrens could be saved.

Athee fell in step beside him, the sound of her boots striking the floor in rapid succession as she attempted to keep up with her mate. Her mind remained closed, which was a relief to Byron. He checked his messages as they strode toward his office, leery of who else might be vying for his attention. Only the message from the Doorthmore remained unanswered. Byron composed a quick note while they walked and sent it just as they stepped into his office.

Setting down his tablet, Byron leaned against the desk to gather his thoughts. His gaze drifted to the far corner and a form lying under a blanket on the floor.

I’m sorry, thought Athee, moving to his side. I didn’t have time to take him home after we visited medical. He was so tired, I knew he’d just fall asleep.

Byron nodded, his eyes on the stock of black hair protruding from under the blanket. The rest of Bassan lay hidden, including his feet. The entrance of his parents hadn’t disturbed his son, and the blanket rose and fell in a gentle, even rhythm.

If he slept at all last night it was only for a few hours, she thought.

I don’t think any of us slept well, thought Byron. He turned to face his mate. Athee, there are still several open slots. I will see to it your uncle is on board one of those ships.

His mate reached out to touch him and hesitated, tears in her eyes. Athee’s mind churned in turmoil, the direness of the situation taking hold in a mad rush. Byron grabbed her hand and pulled his mate closer. He couldn’t offer much comfort, but he had to calm the distraught creature in his arms. Her shallow breath filled his ears; the only evidence of her tears.

Byron closed his eyes and let the silence of the moment settle his own nerves. The past two weeks had beaten at his senses and run him ragged. He just didn’t have the same endurance anymore.

Don’t know how you did it during the Vindicarn War, Bassa, he thought as memories of his fallen navigator filled his head.

Athee stirred and Byron released her. He waited while she composed herself and straightened her uniform. Meeting his gaze, she lifted her chin and offered a nod of thanks. Byron reached for her hand.

Did medical clear you?

Yes, she thought. Athee glanced at Bassan. And after last night’s horrible nightmares, I took Bassan with me so they could examine him. No, they didn’t delve into his mind, but the medical officer talked to him for a few minutes and finally suggested a sedative to help him sleep.

It wasn’t ideal, but Byron had grown tired of the nightly ritual. If it gets him through the night, it’s worth a try,

It’s not a permanent solution though.

No, but we need to get through our current crisis first.

Athee squeezed his fingers. Only three hundred and twenty?

That number seemed so small now, but it was far greater than the nine Tgrens residing on the base with Cassan mates. Byron knew the Tgren race wouldn’t have a chance otherwise.

I had to really pull some strings to acquire the Doorthmore, he thought. But it’s better than the hundred and twenty extra the Nacinta will hold. And certainly more Tgrens than we took from the surface last time.

That elicited a faint smile from his mate. And you had to drag me into that shuttle.

The tablet on Byron’s desk chirped the arrival of another message. With a moan, he picked it up and stared at the screen.

Enteller, he thought with disgust. He can wait a moment.

I’ll try to intercept any further messages, thought Athee, releasing his hand.

Byron helped rouse Bassan and got the boy to his feet. Athee led their son from the room, his gait wobbly and slow. Byron watched them leave and wished he could join Bassan in a long nap. His tablet chirped again just as the door closed.

“Yes, Enteller!” he said, seizing the computer pad. Collapsing into his chair, Byron touched the screen.

I wonder if the aliens would accept you as a sacrifice? he thought.

Dropping onto the long couch, Byron scrolled through the options on his computer pad. He yawned and shook his head.

I shouldn’t have bothered going to bed for a few hours, he thought. But by the time this ends, it will be close to dawn anyway.

Locating the correct feed, he pulled up the image. The swirling blues and greens of Arell filled the screen. A gentle haze covered the planet, like wisps of mist rising from water in the morning. Arell had long held the mystique as a place of peace, as had her people. The fair-skinned race even appeared cool with neutral flesh tones, almost to the point of a pale blue frost. Arellens were slow to anger, as evidenced by a history of tolerance. However, the race possessed the strongest weapons in the galaxy. Byron had only witnesses the Blueseth weapon once. That was enough to know he never wanted to be on receiving end of such power.

The view pulled back and Byron’s chest tightened. The silent death march of the probe continued as the vessel drew closer to Arell. He stared at the alien ship in morbid fascination. The device was the same craft that had threatened the Tgrens twenty years ago. From the angle of the feed, he could even see the indention near the nose that housed the scanner. He and Athee had hovered in that indention, enticing it to scan her mind and confirm the development of Tgren mental powers.

What are you scanning for this time? he thought, gripping both edges of his computer pad. If we establish peace, how do we convince you?

Tapping the screen, he brought up the conversation feed. The ongoing discussion recorded between those still on Arell and a nearby Arellen battle cruiser, the text displayed below the main image. Those on the ship confirmed a few stragglers continued to flee the planet despite the proximity of the probe. Byron tried to focus on the exchanges, but the sight of the silent alien device approaching Arell continued to steal his attention. In nine days, it would descend upon Tgren with no mercy for her people.

Reaching out, he touched his senior science officer’s mind. Mevine, I’m watching the feed now.

Commander! Very good, Mevine’s mental voice crackled with energy.

How can you be so alert at this hour? Byron thought, rubbing his tired eyes.

Sir, we’re recording every transmission from Arell. They are sending out numerous feeds.

We?

Yes, sir. Five of us are here in the lab.

Sliding down farther on the couch, Byron shook his head. Mevine’s crew was dedicated. That included the two Tgren scientists who worked closely with his senior officer. Byron made a mental note to place both men on the list for evacuation. Their brilliance shouldn’t be lost.

Commander, we are ready this time.

Keep me posted, Byron said, suppressing another yawn.

He stared at the screen, mesmerized by the deadly scenario unfolding before his eyes. Byron couldn’t believe he was going to witness the destruction of an entire planet’s ecosystem. According to the vague reports from the Torbeth’s home world, the storm continued to rage across the surface. Within the hour, Arell would suffer a similar fate. The destruction of the Vindicarn teleportation vessel, now many years in the past, paled in comparison.

A noise reached Byron’s ears. He glanced at the door leading to his bedroom and touched the mind of the occupant within. Athee still slept. His shoulders sagged and Byron reached for his son’s mind. As expected, Bassan was caught in another nightmare.

So much for the sedative working, Byron thought with disgust.

He set his tablet aside and rose to investigate. The sound of Bassan’s whimpers drifted from his room. Raising the lights in the main room, Byron slipped into his son’s bedroom. Bassan’s body trembled, most likely from the images in his head, and he lie curled in a fetal position. Dropping onto the bed, Byron touched his son’s shoulder.

“Bassan,” he said, projecting with his mind as well. Giving his son a light shake, he tried again. “Bassan!”

With a gasp, the boy awoke and sat up. Byron caught the tail end of the dream as it vanished from his son’s mind. He frowned, puzzled by the fleeting abstract images. Never clear enough for him to identify, the visuals appeared connected and repetitive. Just what nightmare plagued his son every night?

Bassan, he thought, steadying his son. You’re all right. Just another bad dream.

Muscles tensed, Bassan opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound emerged. Averting his eyes, he leaned forward. His small hands balled into fists as he grasped the blanket and uttered another gasp.

Slipping an arm around his son’s body, Byron pulled him closer. He stroked Bassan’s matted hair, hoping he could soothe the boy quickly. At least he hasn’t woken up screaming and delirious the past two nights, thought Byron.

Bassan grasped Byron’s arm. I’m sorry.

You can’t control your dreams. Glad I was awake and caught you before the dream got worse.

Bassan pulled free and peered up at his father. Did you just get home?

No, I was… Byron paused, hesitant to admit the reason for his nighttime activity. His son’s nightmares were already brutal. But, he never wanted to hide the truth from Bassan.

I’m watching updates on the probe’s arrival at Arell.

Oh, thought Bassan, his tone sad.

Go back to sleep, Byron thought, patting his son’s shoulder.

Settling Bassan in his bed, Byron returned to the main room. More alert now, he checked another feed on his tablet. The Arellens reported no sign of enemy ships, which had hindered evacuation efforts two days ago. Byron suspected the Vindicarn had retreated to their home world, as the ships occupying Tgren space were nowhere to be seen either.

I bet you believe our warning now, Byron thought.

Switching to the official feed, he skimmed the information. Thirty percent of the race had escaped the surface of Arell. Byron cringed and shifted his position on the couch. A million Arellens lived on the planet. He continued to read the report. Those who remained either took shelter underground or chose another method of protection. If the storm caused massive earthquakes or lasted longer than supplies of air, food, and water, then only 300,000 Arellens would remain.

Far more than the three hundred plus I’ll be able to save though, he thought, depressed by that sad truth.

Switching back to the first feed, Byron caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and noticed Bassan hovering at the end of couch.

You should be in bed.

I can’t sleep, thought Bassan, shifting from one foot to the other. Can I sit out here with you for a while? Please?

Dropping his head against the back of the couch, Byron prepared to send his son back to his room. The boy would be so tired in the morning if he didn’t get some sleep. Bassan didn’t need to sit in on Arell’s deathwatch either. The thoughts in his son’s unshielded mind tugged at his conscience. Bassan just wanted to spend time with his father.

All right, Byron thought, giving in to his guilt.

Bassan moved to Byron’s side, pressing his shoulder against his arm. Tilting his computer pad, Byron angled the screen away from his son. He didn’t need to witness the destruction of Arell. When the moment arrived, Byron contemplated looking away as well.

After a moment, Bassan shifted positions. Byron glanced down at his son. The turmoil of his dream now gone, Bassan’s mind revealed a sense of comfort in the presence of his father. Adjusting his shoulders again, Byron’s son looked up. His eyes reflected curiosity, offset by the bruising around his nose. The black patches were already changing colors as they healed.

You know, I never had a chance to talk to you about the fight, Byron thought.

Bassan’s gaze dropped to his lap and he rubbed his fingers together. Wasn’t much of a fight.

Officer Tarcon told me Senge knocked you down and called you a half-breed. Is that why you tackled him?

Yes, sir, thought Bassan. His fingers moved faster.

Setting aside his computer pad, Byron focused on his son. I would’ve tackled him as well.

Bassan looked up, his eyes wide. Really?

Sure. I wasn’t afraid of a fight at your age.

Shame washed over Bassan and he dropped his gaze. Byron nudged his shoulder.

I didn’t say that was a good thing though. I lost as many fights as I won.

Byron lifted his arm and placed it around his son. Bassan finally met his eyes.

Fighting really doesn’t solve anything, Byron thought. But you should defend your heritage. Your mother is the former prefect’s niece, which is a prestigious position. She boasts mental powers stronger than most Tgrens and beyond what any Cassan woman possesses.

Besides, he thought, squeezing his son, this is your home. You are part of Tgren. Those Cassan boys are just guests.

Bassan offered a faint smile. I guess they are.

Satisfied with their exchange, Byron glanced at his tablet. The alien ship had reached Arell and now hovered over the silent planet. Bassan nestled closer to his side and Byron wrapped his arm tighter around his son. He watched and waited with the rest of the universe.

The feed below the image announced a transmission from the probe.

I hope you caught that, Mevine, Byron thought.

Beside him, Bassan’s body shook. Byron turned to his son, afraid Bassan was watching the screen. The trembling intensified and Bassan held out his hand as if reaching for an invisible object. Startled by his son’s behavior, Byron sat up.

Bassan? he thought, peering at the boy’s face. Glassy, unseeing eyes met his and Byron grabbed his son’s shoulders.

Bassan!

His son didn’t respond. Byron leapt from the couch and knelt in front of Bassan. The boy gave no indication he knew where he was or what he was doing. Panic rose in Byron’s chest and he reached for his son’s mind. A stream of images flashed through Bassan’s thoughts, blinding in their intensity. The similarity to his son’s violent dreams struck Byron. He tried to grasp the purpose of the images, but it was beyond anything he’d ever encountered.

Byron was about to wake Athee when his son’s shaking stopped. Bassan’s eyes refocused and he stared at his father in horror. Byron held his breath.

Bassan? he thought.

His son gasped and his eyes filled with tears. Please make it stop.

Returning to the couch, Byron pulled Bassan into his arms. The boy’s body shook with sobs and he trembled from head to toe. Distraught and at a loss, Byron rocked his son until the crying subsided.

Bassan? he thought, still cradling his son’s body. Did you fall asleep?

No, thought Bassan, his answer punctuated by a sniff.

You were awake this time?

Yes.

Has this happened before?

The answer was slow in coming. Yes.

Easing his hold, Byron gazed at his son’s tear-streaked face. When?

Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, Bassan didn’t answer. Byron gave him a light shake.

Answer me! When did this happen?

Bassan grasped at his father’s shirt, his mouth open. Right after my fight with Senge.

Byron returned his son’s stunned expression, his mind racing. Adjusting his hold on Bassan, he reached for his tablet. Byron pulled up the information on the probe’s attack on the Torbeth’s home world. Did a connection exist? He checked the time of the ship’s arrival and then pulled up the message from Officer Tarcon. While the exact time of the fight was unknown, the two events had occurred close together. Bassan’s instructor had mentioned a seizure. The symptoms mirrored Bassan’s reaction tonight.

Turning to his son, Byron noted the fear in Bassan’s eyes. Whatever he’d just endured, it went beyond his nightmares. For reasons Byron couldn’t understand, his son was linked to the probe.

Officer Mevine? he thought, reaching out to his science officer.

Yes, sir?

I know you’ve been up all night, but I need you to remain in the lab a little longer.

Yes, sir, thought Mevine. Do you need all of our findings from tonight’s event?

No, thought Byron, his gaze on Bassan. The truth landed heavy on his chest.

I think I’ve found the reply code for the probe.

Chapter Ten

The halls were quiet this time of morning. Byron passed only one other person as he escorted his son to the lab. Despite a lack of sleep, he felt strangely alert.

He’d waited until he and Bassan were dressed before rousing Athee. She’d panicked when Byron explained the situation. Her reaction confirmed Byron’s initial decision to leave before she could dress and join them. Bassan was already uneasy and on edge. His mother’s presence would unnerve him further. Byron promised Athee he would update her before they left the lab.

Bassan walked beside him in silence. He’d acted so fearful and vulnerable last night after his waking nightmare. Aware of his son’s anxiety, Byron rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Bassan’s posture straightened and he appeared to draw strength from the contact.

They reached Mevine’s lab and Byron scanned the room. One man hunched over his computer in the far corner while another slept at his station. Guiding Bassan into the lab, he waited a moment before calling out for his senior science officer.

Officer Mevine!

A head appeared over a computer in the middle of the room. Sir! I’m sorry. I was just going over the data from Arell.

The science officer approached them, his gait uneven. Mevine paused next to a computer station, his hand grasping the edge of the desk. His curly mane bobbed as he steadied his body. Forcing himself to stand up straight, Mevine met Byron’s gaze. Dark circles resided underneath bloodshot eyes and Byron experienced a moment of regret. His senior science officer seemed poised to topple over at any moment.

“Officer Mevine, I can’t explain it,” said Byron, squeezing his son’s shoulder, “but I believe the response code is trapped in Bassan’s head.”

Mevine blinked, his body swaying. Mouth ajar, his gaze shifted from Bassan to Byron. “Sir, how is that possible?”

Byron shook his head. “I don’t know. But he’s had the same nightmare for over a week. And last night he experienced it while awake and immediately following the transmission from the probe. I believe he experienced it when the alien ship signaled the Torbeth as well.”

Rubbing his face, Mevine took a step closer. “Sir the initial signal from the probe is a complex code. The response code would consist of detailed information. Data, symbols...”

“Images?” Byron interjected, still clinging to his theory.

Mevine froze. Byron seized the opportunity.

“A complex string of images and symbols more intense than our brains could process?”

His words sent a shock of fear through Bassan. Shifting his hand to the boy’s neck, Byron pulled him closer. Muscles tense, he waited for Mevine to respond.

“Sir, can you show me?” said Mevine.

Yes, thought Byron, allowing the science officer access to the snippets he’d gathered from his son. Mevine’s eyes widened.

“Sir, if I could access the whole code…”

Offering a curt nod, Byron followed the science officer to his central computer. Mevine paused at the controls, his gaze on Bassan. Grasping his son under the arms, Byron lifted him onto the desk’s surface. Bassan adjusted his position and stared at his father in anticipation.

“Bassan,” said Byron, resting his hand against his son’s cheek. “I need to access that code. Since you can’t remember it, I need to go deep to find it.”

A flash of panic erupted from Bassan and he fidgeted atop the desk. Byron smiled to reassure his son.

“Yes, it will be uncomfortable. But it only hurts if you resist me. You need to trust me, all right?”

Bassan’s spine curved and he shrank even farther. Swallowing hard, he nodded.

Listen to me, thought Byron. You need to trust me. I’m just after the code. If we can get it out of your head, maybe it won’t give you nightmares anymore.

Licking his lips, Bassan’s chin dipped once. Yes, Father.

Byron hesitated. He needed his son’s full cooperation and trust.

I love you.

The fear vanished from Bassan’s eyes. He sat up straighter, his chest forward.

“Officer Mevine, you are to access the code through me, understood?” said Byron. Once I lock onto the code in my son’s mind, you are to take it from mine. That is an order.

Yes, sir, thought Mevine. His touch on Byron’s mind confirmed his compliance.

Close your eyes, Byron thought, nodding at his son.

Once Bassan’s eyes closed, Byron entered his mind. He met no resistance. Reassured by his son’s trust, he began to search. Byron hoped the unique signature of the code would cause it to stand out from the rest of Bassan’s thoughts and memories. Finding a series of vague images would prove difficult, otherwise.

Flitting through his son’s memories, Byron didn’t dwell on the individual moments. He couldn’t help but notice the amount of times his own image appeared, though. Bassan recalled more than he did, which was no small feat for someone his age. That those memories held special meaning for his son elicited a pang of guilt. Byron needed to devote more time to Bassan.

Delving further, he entered Bassan’s subconscious. Unease drifted through his son’s mind and the boy’s muscles tightened beneath his grip.

Relax, Byron told him, closing his own eyes so he could focus better.

A moment later, he encountered a shield. The code had to be within. Gritting his teeth, Byron prepared to force his way inside.

I’m sorry, but this will hurt, he thought, regretting the pain he would inflict on his son. Confirming Mevine’s presence on the fringes of his mind, Byron pushed through the shield.

Bassan’s cry reverberated in his ears and pounded at his skull. As soon as he’d punched through the barrier, a blinding light overwhelmed Byron. A stream of images pounded at his mind, compounded by Bassan’s agony. Tortured by the sensation, he almost pulled out. Clinging to the stream of confusion, Byron fought through the burning pain. If he released Bassan’s mind now, he might not get another opportunity.

The light began to dim. As it faded, so did the roar between his ears. Replaced by fear and anguish, Byron became aware of his hold on Bassan’s mind. In haste, he withdrew and opened his eyes. His son’s chin rested on his chest, his hands pressed to his face.

As shaken as Bassan, Byron pulled his son close. A soft sob escaped Bassan.

It’s all right, Byron thought, resting his cheek on his son’s head. It’s over now.

His gaze traveled to Mevine. Alarm rose in his chest. The science officer had collapsed in his chair. Byron lifted his head just as another officer arrived at Mevine’s side.

“Sir, are you all right?” the man said, grasping Mevine’s shoulder.

Shaking his head, Mevine looked up at the man. He glanced at Byron, his eyes wide. Brushing off the other officer, Mevine spun in his chair and began typing on his keypad. The man stepped back and turned to Byron.

“Commander?” he said, his hand outstretched.

“I’m fine,” Byron answered.

With hesitant steps, the officer returned to his station. Still holding his son, Byron’s attention returned to Mevine. He watched the man’s fingers run across the keypad. Byron wanted to confirm his science officer had caught the code but held his tongue. Judging from Mevine’s reaction, not to mention the tense expression crushing his face, he’d experienced every moment.

A gasp from Bassan diverted Byron’s attention. Adjusting his hold, Byron pressed his hand against his son’s neck.

I’m here, he thought, connecting to Bassan’s mind with the lightest touch. I’m sorry it had to hurt. I never wanted to do that to you.

Bassan’s fingers clutched tighter at his back. The wrenching and overpowering agony in his mind stabbed at Byron’s heart. He’d endured so many mental invasions as a child and never wanted Bassan to endure such cruelty. Not only had he betrayed his son, but Byron had acted as the perpetrator.

Bassan, I’m sorry, he thought. I love you. Forgive me.

His son pulled against him and Byron eased his hold. Wiping his tears with the back of his hand, Bassan raised his chin and met Byron’s gaze. Offering the best smile he could muster, Byron gave his son’s neck a gentle squeeze. Bassan’s mind filled with acceptance, offering no trace of resentment. The forgiving attitude surprised Byron. While he’d grown up bitter and angry, his son possessed neither of those qualities. The influence of Bassan’s mother couldn’t be more prominent.

Is our son all right?

At the sound of his mate’s voice, Byron pulled his son closer. He’s fine. Just tell me you weren’t linked to either of us when I accessed that code.

No, I did as you asked, thought Athee. But I could still feel your pain. Are you sure you’re both all right?

Yes, I promise. Mevine is working on the code now. I’ll let you know what he finds.

The moment you know something! I’ll be there shortly.

Mevine leaned away from the keyboard and ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. Byron released Bassan save for one hand on the boy’s shoulder and waited for the verdict. The science officer shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. Byron was about to speak when Mevine’s head jerked around. His hands dropped and he assumed a more professional posture.

“Sir, I don’t know how it’s possible,” said Mevine, “but the signatures of the coded message sent out by the probe and the code in your son’s head are similar. I can’t do a full analysis though. I simply can’t remember enough of the code…”

“Is it the correct response?” Byron said, muscles coiling in anticipation.

Mevine turned in his chair and gazed up at Byron, his eyebrows raised. “As far as I can tell, yes.”

Gasping as he released his breath, Byron turned to Bassan. The boy appeared confused. Byron rested his hands on Bassan’s shoulder and fixed him with a firm stare.

“Bassan, you need to do one more thing for me. I need to know how that code got into your head. When your nightmares began, was that the first time you’d seen a flash of light and images?”

Fear emanated from Bassan before he shielded his thoughts. Byron gave his son a light shake.

“You need to tell me.”

Biting his lip, Bassan glanced at Mevine. “I wasn’t supposed to touch anything,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

“At the alien ship?” said Mevine, springing to his feet.

Byron caught Bassan’s faint nod. “What did you touch?” he said, leaning closer to his son.

His face contorted with fear, Bassan met Byron’s gaze. “In the control room over the pods,” he stammered. “I touched the large console. The one with no display.”

“You placed your hand on the modulator?” said Mevine. He held up his fists and pressed them together. “The round, metal ball?”

Bassan nodded, his body beginning to tremble. Byron turned to his science officer and noted Mevine’s excited expression.

“What’s the significance?” he said.

“Sir, we’ve never been able to access that particular console,” said Mevine, turning to punch numbers into his keyboard. “The alien ship is so sensitive. Sometimes it’s more than just knowing which button to push. Like when the ship scanned for the correct development of mental powers years ago. It takes the right conditions.”

“Then how was Bassan able to access it?”

Mevine leaned away from the screen, his head shaking slowly from side to side. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. The science officer’s hand dropped and he turned to Byron. Mouth open to speak, Mevine’s gaze shifted to Bassan and he froze. A wave of incredulous revelation rolled from the man’s thoughts.

“He gained access because he’s half Tgren and half Cassan,” Mevine said, his words coming out in a rush.

“What?”

Without answering, Mevine punched numbers into the keypad like a madman. Impatient for an answer, Byron stared at the various screens as they flitted by on the computer. He was about to demand an answer from his science officer when one image paused on the screen. Nine encoded transmissions were displayed side by side, identical in appearance. Mevine leaned away and pointed at the graph.

“Commander, that’s the responses from the nine alien ships before the Torbeth’s home world was laid to waste. Remember I said there was a slight variation in the transmissions from the ships on Cassa and Tgren? You can see it here,” said Mevine, pointing to a segment near the end of one transmission. It was difficult to see, but Byron detected a slight difference.

“The probe was activated because the ten races are at war,” Mevine continued, his voice rising in pitch. “What if Bassan’s mixed heritage told the computer the Cassans and Tgrens were at peace with each other? It might’ve deemed Bassan a satisfactory receptacle for the code.”

“Because he carries the genes of two races?”

“Possibly, sir.”

Byron turned to Bassan. The boy glanced at each man, his eyes wide.

“So it’s good I’m a half-breed freak?” Bassan said.

“Bassan, you are not a freak,” said Byron.

Mevine leaned closer and patted the boy’s knee. “You’re not a freak. Remember what I said that day? You and Drent might be the beginning of a new race.”

The words were no sooner out of the science officer’s mouth when he slapped his forehead. “Of course!” he said. Mevine spun back to his computer.

“Now what?” said Byron.

Mevine’s fingers flew over the keypad. A complex string of alien text appeared on the computer screen.

“Sir,” said Mevine, pointing at the strange symbols, “one thing we’d encountered in our translations was the mention of an eleventh race. It only appears in this passage. We originally thought it referred to the race that seeded the Tgrens. Further study revealed that was not the case, however.”

“There’s an eleventh seeded race?” said Byron. Only ten alien ships were discovered though.

The science officer shook his head. “This race wasn’t seeded. Our best translation of this passage implies the race will emerge.”

Byron stared at Mevine in disbelief. A race that would emerge? One that was a mixture of two races?

“Bassan is the beginning of that race?” said Byron.

“Sir, if he is, then that might explain why the code downloaded into his head. It makes sense. The eleventh race is the key.”

Stunned by the implication, Byron peered closer at his son. Bassan fidgeted atop the desk, his dark eyes upon his father. Byron touched his son’s head and marveled at the miracle in front of him. Their one hope for survival existed because he’d taken a Tgren woman as his mate. And now their offspring possessed the code sought by the alien probe.

How do we get the code out of Bassan? thought Byron, unwilling to voice his concerns in front of his son.

Sir, that I don’t know, thought Mevine. Delivery of the response code has to be located somewhere in the databanks though.

“That code will stop the probe?” Byron said, turning to his science officer.

Mevine’s shoulders sagged. “Only if it’s accompanied by the confirmation the ten races are at peace.”

“That’s all?” scoffed Byron.

Disgusted, he straightened his back and glanced around the room. Several other officers had arrived and begun working. Among them, Byron noted the two Tgrens who worked with Mevine. The men appeared at ease surrounded by Cassans, and other than their dark hair and skin tone, they looked no different. For the most part, the two races existed in peace. They’d even interbred, producing children that Mevine now claimed were an eleventh race. If Cassans and Tgrens could coexist, then so could the other races.

“Officer Mevine,” said Byron, startling the science officer. “I need you to send me your findings and conclusion in a report I can forward to High Command.”

“Yes, sir.”

Byron allowed a grin to cross his face. “The aliens want peace between the races? Well, let’s see how badly the Vindicarn want their planet to survive.”

Mevine swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

Grasping his son, Byron set Bassan on the floor. “And then,” he said with force, “you are to go home and go to bed.”

“But sir...”

“Mevine, I’m going to need you more than ever if we hope to beat this. And I need you sharp. Get a few hours of sleep so you can perform your duties.”

Standing straight, Mevine offered a salute. “Yes, sir!”

Holding his son’s hand, Byron led Bassan from the lab. The boy’s feet moved quickly to keep pace. Once they reached the hallway, his head dropped.

Father, I’m sorry, he thought.

Byron didn’t respond. They passed an officer on his way to the lab, his salute jumbled as he attempted to maintain a hold on the items in his hand. The moment the man entered the lab, Byron stooped to one knee in front of Bassan.

You shouldn’t have touched that console, he thought, grasping his son’s shoulders. Bassan’s chin drooped. Byron gave him a shake and the boy raised his head.

But considering you now carry the code that could save us, I’m damned glad you did.

Bassan’s mouth opened and his eyes grew wide. Byron smiled and patted the side of his head.

Not bad for a half-breed, huh?

Leaning forward, Athee retrieved the new message. Her back protested the awkward pose and she shifted her position. Athee moved again, edging closer to the desk. The tension in her body just wouldn’t allow her to find a comfortable spot.

I need some rest, she thought. And time away from this desk!

The message held another list of twelve candidates. She scanned the descriptions. All fell within Byron’s parameters and represented an equal mix of men and women. She’d rejected two lists already this morning. Athee grew weary of fighting with the prefects. Several were determined to slip in completely unqualified prospects. At least this selection represented a good mix of ages and skills.

“Thank you for not trying to save every member of your family,” she said under her breath.

Adding the names to the master list, Athee glanced at the time. The medical team sent to retrieve her uncle and place him under the care of the Cassan facility would reach Orellen soon. Byron had promised safe passage for the former prefect, but Athee suspected access to the Cassan base would soon be impossible for unauthorized Tgrens. With her uncle housed in the medical facility on base, his passage off planet was secure. His knowledge was too valuable to lose.

And if Enteller finds out, he’ll pitch a fit, she thought. At least I’m not trying to save all of my relatives.

A loud beep signified an urgent message. Athee noted the direct feed and replied on her tablet. The disapproving scowl of Prefect Anchore filled the screen.

“Officer Athee, we were promised the use of the shuttle,” he said, every syllable enunciated through clenched teeth. “We’ve been waiting an hour now.”

Patience, Athee thought as her defenses rose. “Prefect Anchore, give me a moment and I’ll check the shuttle’s estimated time of arrival.”

“It should’ve arrived an hour ago.”

Punching the keys on her main computer with considerable force, Athee summoned Shuttle Two. Muting her tablet, she angled it away from her face. The shuttle pilot deserved a warning of what awaited his crew.

“Shuttle Two, this is Officer Athee,” she said, placing her elbow on the desk and resting her cheek against her palm. “Roesaw, what is your current position?”

“Officer Athee, we are at the Stin Caves in the northern quadrant. We’re unloading the last of the cargo right now.”

“Good, because Prefect Anchore is waiting. Impatiently I might add.”

“My apologies. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

Athee touched the pilot’s mind. Don’t let him give you any grief.

Roesaw answered her with a chuckle. I can handle that crotchety old man. We can always pitch him out an airlock and claim it was a shuttle accident.

Concealing a smile, Athee turned to her tablet. “Prefect Anchore, they are unloading the last of a shipment to the Stin Caves and will arrive at your location soon.”

“Well, we have five loads instead of three, and if the shuttle doesn’t arrive soon, some of the contents will spoil in this heat.”

“Prefect, ask the crew to move the perishables first. They should be there soon.”

Ending the transmission, Athee set down her tablet and rolled her eyes. Maybe Roesaw would make good on his threat and she wouldn’t have to listen to Anchore’s complaints anymore.

Another message arrived. Noting its origins, Athee grew excited. It was the final list of Tgren passengers for the Nacinta and Doorthmore. Compiling it with the master list, she forwarded the information to Byron.

Leaning back in her chair, Athee rubbed her eyes. The sight of Arell’s atmosphere dissolving into a violent storm returned. She’d slept through the event but forced herself to watch the recording this morning. Her hands shook at the thought of such a beautiful planet laid to waste by the ancient aliens. Early reports claimed most of the race had escaped annihilation, but what would the Arellens do now? Where would they go?

Weighing heavy on her heart was Bassan’s involvement. The key to saving the races resided in her son’s head? She didn’t want him caught up in this crazy situation.

Her stomach rumbled. Between thoughts of her morning work requirement, not to mention concern for Bassan, Athee had eaten with haste and dumped half of her meal in the trash. She really needed something to eat. Rising to her feet, she grabbed her tablet and went in search of food.

Touching her mate’s mind, she discovered him deep in conversation. Judging from the content of the exchange, Byron was speaking with Mevine in the lab. Going under the assumption he’d not eaten either, Athee decided they could both use a meal.

Athee?

Hearing her name drawn out with that tone caused her to smile. Yes, Uncle?

Why am I being transferred to the facility on base? I was supposed to go home today.

If we can’t stop the probe, everyone on this base will be evacuated. That includes everyone in medical.

Passage on the Cassan ships is for those who can perpetuate our race, her uncle thought.

Byron is allowing a few key people to be included. You are on that list.

No! I’ll not deprive someone else a chance.

Athee rounded a corner, her boots striking the floor with force. And I’m not leaving you behind a second time. Don’t try to argue with me, Uncle. Istaner already sent over some of your belongings. You will leave with us on the Nacinta.

But what of my son and his family?

Istaner refused passage, Athee thought. Her cousin’s response hadn’t surprised her, although she dreaded leaving him behind. They will take shelter in the alien craft. The report from Arell this morning confirmed the ship will provide protection against the violent storms. He’ll be all right.

That’s where I belong as well, he uncle thought with finality.

No, you belong on that Cassan ship with your great nephew.

Athee…

Uncle! She paused, leaning against the wall. Her heart constricted and Athee dropped her chin so no passerby would see the tears forming in her eyes. I left you behind once. Never again.

She closed her eyes, fighting back the pain of that moment. Determined to convince her uncle, Athee didn’t shield her anguish from the man.

Ever since I lost my father, you have been there for me, she thought. You are just as much my father as he was. I need you. I need you for my son. Byron has no family. You are as much a grandfather as a great uncle to Bassan. Should something go terribly wrong, I want to be sure my son has someone besides his parents to guide him. I want you there to watch my son grow up.

The sound of boots striking the floor caused Athee to open her eyes, but she didn’t look up. To her relief, the person didn’t stop. Wiping her cheeks with shaking fingers, Athee straightened her back.

My dear… thought her uncle, his mental voice trembling.

And you can argue with me all you want, but I wasn’t the one who made this decision. You’ll have to take your complaint to the base commander.

A long pause followed. Concerned, Athee reached out and touched her uncle’s mind. The man who’d governed Ktren for over twenty years with an unwavering strength now teetered between resolution and complete emotional surrender. The latter won the battle, eliminating all protest.

And to think I despised that pilot when I first met him, her uncle thought.

Athee smiled and pushed off from the wall. Sometimes people surprise us.

I’d like to see Istaner and his family one more time.

I’ll arrange for them to visit you tonight.

Thank you, her uncle thought, his words ripe with a thousand deeper meanings.

Wiping her face again, Athee continued toward Mevine’s lab. The muscles in her chest eased as she walked. The three people who mattered most to her would be aboard the Nacinta.

She continued to struggle with the discovery of the code in Bassan’s head. Before she reached her destination, she touched her son’s mind. His joy bubbled forth as he enjoyed time with Drent. The knots in her shoulders eased and she resisted the urge to speak to him. Bassan carried such a heavy load. He deserved a moment free of fear and the opportunity to be a little boy.

Entering the lab, Athee scanned the room for her mate. A science officer pointed to the far corner, and she caught sight of Byron and Mevine hunched over a computer. Her stomach rumbling again, she joined them.

“According to the Fesell,” Mevine said as Athee approached, “the code is part of a fail-safe to change the probe’s directive.”

“So it will do more than just stop the probe?” Byron said, straightening his back. He glanced at Athee as she paused beside him, a brief touch on her mind the sole acknowledgement of her presence.

“Peace between the races will stop the probe, but that code will allow us to control it.”

His words brought a surge of hope to Athee’s heart and she clutched her computer tablet to her chest. Mevine looked up, his gaze shifting from Byron to Athee. Scrambling to his feet, the science officer shoved aside his chair, and it collided with the edge of the console. Athee grasped his arm to steady the man.

“Officer Athee, my apologies,” he stammered, groping behind his back for the chair.

“Mevine!” said Byron. “You said we can control the probe?”

Athee released her grip on his arm and Mevine’s attention returned to his computer. “Yes, sir. The Fesell have translated the purpose of the code in the databanks. It will allow us access to the directives contained within the probe.”

“They were able to translate it that quickly?” asked Athee, stunned by the rapid progress.

“We’ve shared data with them for years,” replied Mevine, producing detailed graphs on his computer screen. “Once the Fesell were able to access the alien ship on their own planet, their research accelerated. We’ve analyzed the information they sent and the theory is sound. The code will allow us to control the probe to an extent.”

“To an extent?” Byron said.

The science officer paused. “Sir, we just can’t say with any amount of certainty. We could have full access to the probe or just limited access. Either way, we should be able to prevent it from destroying any more planets.”

“Maybe we can program it to give the alien race a taste of their own medicine,” said Byron, his voice low.

The science officer cleared his throat. “We’d need to know their location first. The origins of the alien ships are still unknown. That’s another reason why we still can’t reach the alien race. We’ve also been unable to contact the probe, as it won’t respond to our transmissions.”

“Well, if we can’t get the races to declare a ceasefire it won’t matter,” said Byron. “I’m sure High Command already has the information, but send me a short report and I’ll forward it to Cassa.”

“Yes, sir.”

Byron turned toward Athee. I assume you were looking for me?

Yes, she thought, falling in step with her mate as he moved toward the exit. Thought you might want to get something to eat.

Since I’m unlikely to catch a break today, now is as good a time as any.

Byron maintained a tight shield around his mind as they walked to the dining hall. Their bond meant Athee could press for access if she desired. From his silence, she suspected her mate’s patience was wearing thin. She decided to wait until he put some food in his stomach. Perhaps it would improve his mood.

The dining hall was littered with half-empty tables. Few dared approach the commander when Athee accompanied him for meals, and they were able to eat in peace. Byron spent part of the time responding to messages, but she chose to ignore the two beeps on her own computer pad. At least he was eating. When he pushed aside his tablet, Byron looked up and met her gaze.

Sorry, he thought, scraping another forkful of food from his plate. Just weary of the whole situation.

I know. She felt his touch on her mind.

I sensed your distress earlier. Are you all right? Byron thought.

Yes. Just had to convince my uncle he has a place on the Nacinta whether he wants it or not.

I assume you succeeded?

Catching the humorous glint in his eyes, Athee permitted a smile to tug at her lips. Of course.

Byron reached for his glass and shook his head. Wish it was as easy to convince ten races to declare a truce.

Two planets destroyed isn’t enough to convince them?

No, even with the probe bearing down on them, the Vindicarn still refuse to bargain with us. Should just let the probe wipe them out.

Athee set down her fork, fighting the fear rising in her mind. But we’re next.

I know, he thought, leaning his elbows on the table. We’re running out of time.

An urgent beep on his computer interrupted them. Scowling at the device, Byron tapped the surface.

“Commander, we’ve detected four rogue ships south of here,” a voice announced.

Those words shot through Athee like a bolt of lightning. Rogue attacks on the planet surface were rare. She couldn’t recall an attack within the past year. Athee gripped the edge of the table and prepared to rise.

“Inform Officer Hurend at once. Have him send a squadron to intercept,” Byron said. He tapped his screen and pressed one fist to his forehead. “Damn rogue pirates have impeccable timing.”

“They’re getting braver,” said Athee, still fighting the urge to run to their ship.

“They’re getting desperate.”

Byron’s arm dropped to the table, revealing a drawn look of disgust. His accompanying thoughts were just as weighted. Her mate’s disposition leaned toward serious and intense, but the past few weeks had pulled Byron to new depths. Pushing aside her own concerns, Athee reached out to him, funneling every ounce of belief into her mate.

Lifting his chin, Byron gazed at her with his eyes of cold frost. Stretching out his hand, he placed it atop Athee’s fingers. She grasped his hand and returned the firm grip. Byron’s gestures of affection while on duty were almost non-existent. Athee understood the necessity for professionalism and never pushed for attention.

I wouldn’t fight this hard if not for you and Bassan, he thought.

Touched by the sincerity behind his words, she felt tears come to her eyes. Athee paused to gather herself. Before she could form an appropriate response, Byron’s computer tablet beeped. He sighed and gave her fingers a squeeze.

Right now, I’d like to beat this device to a pulp.

Athee smiled, buoyed by the renewed strength in his mind. And I’d gladly help!

Chapter Eleven

“We’ve agreed to discuss terms of a truce. You are to escort a representative of Tgren to the Nacinta for a conference with the leaders of the ten races,” said the member of High Command.

“Yes, sir,” replied Byron. He glanced at the corner of his screen and noted the time of the conference. He’d have to contact Prefect Ubarce right away.

“Since this will be the first time Tgren has spoken as part of the alliance, I want you present with their representative to advise him. We’ve worked hard to secure this meeting. We can’t let inexperience destroy what might be our only chance at peace.”

“I understand the importance, sir.”

The transmission ended and Byron reached for his computer pad. Ubarce will be fine, he thought. Just hope I can keep my own temper in check.

He explained the situation to Ubarce and told him a shuttle would arrive shortly. Ubarce assured Byron he would be ready, although he questioned the wisdom of his inclusion in the conference.

“If we fail to stop the probe, you will be the leader of those Tgrens escaping the surface of the planet,” Byron said. “You need to be the one to represent your people tonight. If you have any questions during the conference, I’ll be present to assist you.”

Ubarce took a deep breath. “I will do my best. Do the other prefects know yet?”

“Not yet, but they will shortly. I’m sending a proposal to them as soon as we are finished here.”

“Several will protest your choice.”

Byron cocked one eyebrow. “You let me worry about that.”

Aware of the delicacy of his message to the other prefects and the ensuing objections, Byron decided to take a few moments to compose his thoughts. Grabbing his tablet, he left his office. Enticing smells from the dining hall filled the corridor. He’d think better with food in his stomach. The dining hall was not the best place for quiet reflections, however. Detouring down a side hall, Byron informed Athee he intended to eat at home.

I’ll keep Bassan occupied while you’re here, she thought after he explained his decision.

Don’t worry. Once I’ve sent my message to the prefects, I’ll require a distraction.

The walk provided him a moment to reflect. Byron composed his message on the way home, restructuring his words more than once. He read it over three times, trying to anticipate every reaction. Regardless of his intentions, more than one prefect would protest the proposition of Ubarce as Tgren’s representative. The man’s inclusion in those Tgrens escaping the planet’s surface wouldn’t sit well with the other prefects either, but he met all the criteria. Byron hoped the other prefects would see the logic in his proposal and allow Ubarce to attend the meeting as Tgren’s First Prefect.

We don’t have time for debate, Byron thought, sending the message at the same time he arrived home. We can discuss it later after we’ve saved Tgren.

Athee played a game with Bassan while Byron inhaled his meal. Her mind swirled with distractions as she continued to add to her list of duties for the evening. Byron appreciated her attempts to provide Bassan a few moments of normalcy.

As predicted, his computer pad announced several urgent messages demanding replies while he ate. Confirming each message originated from a prefect, Byron chose to ignore them. He’d included a need to prepare for this conference in his message. If they couldn’t honor his request for five minutes, then those prefects didn’t deserve the courtesy of an immediate reply.

Swallowing the remainder of his drink, Byron turned his attention to his mate and son. Bassan laughed as he tapped his computer tablet and looked up at his mother. Athee frowned before touching the screen. Uttering a triumphant cry, Bassan tapped the screen twice. Athee leaned back in her chair and held up her hands.

“You win,” she said.

Bassan turned to his father and grinned. Byron held up his empty glass.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You didn’t beat her too bad, did you?”

“Hey!” said Athee, rising to her feet.

Byron winked at his mate as she retrieved his empty plate and glass. Bassan gathered his tablet in his arms and stared expectantly at his father.

“Are you going to speak to all of the leaders tonight?” he said.

“I’ll be with Prefect Ubarce when he speaks with the leaders,” said Byron, ignoring yet another beep from his computer pad. “Hopefully we can get them to declare peace tonight.”

“Will that stop the probe?”

“Coupled with the code in your memory, I hope so.”

Bassan’s brows came together. “I told Drent about the code. It wasn’t a secret, was it?”

“It’s all right you told Drent, but don’t tell anyone else.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bassan. He straightened his shoulders. “Drent was really impressed. Think he was jealous. I wish I could tell the others.”

His son’s enthusiasm touched Byron. Perhaps this would provide the opportunity for Bassan to gain some respect among his peers.

“You can tell them when it’s over, all right?” said Byron.

Bassan slid from his seat. “Yes, sir. When it’s over, will I be a hero like you?”

Those words caught Byron by surprise. Heroics at that level came at such a heavy price. He stared at his son, aware Bassan wouldn’t understand. Besides, the burden he carried was already cumbersome.

“Come here,” he said, gesturing Bassan forward.

His smile fading, Bassan approached. Byron grasped his son’s shoulder and gave him a light shake.

“No matter what happens, you’re already my hero,” he said.

Delight burst from Bassan. Touching his son’s mind, it struck Byron the joy didn’t originate from the title itself. Bassan’s happiness stemmed from his father’s pride.

Another loud beep emanated from Byron’s tablet. Patting his son’s head, he rose to his feet and reached for his computer pad.

“I need to prepare,” he told Athee. “Ubarce should be arriving shortly.”

Athee followed him to the door. “I can respond to those messages.”

“No, I’ll take the heat for this one. You have enough on your plate tonight.”

The door slid aside and Byron stepped out into the cool evening air. He looked back at Athee, her thin frame silhouetted in the doorframe.

I’d tell you I’ll give you an update when I return, but I imagine you’ll be listening in on the conference.

Who, me?

That’s what I thought.

Taking advantage of the distance to the main complex, Byron checked his messages. As predicted, several prefects protested the choice of Ubarce. He was pleased to note an equal number offered words of encouragement with their vote of approval. He tallied the replies in his head. Just a few more in his favor…

The final two messages sent the tally over in favor of Ubarce. He was officially the Tgren representative for the meeting tonight.

At least some of you possess a measure of sense, he thought. He composed an official message and announced the results of the vote.

Entering the hangar, Byron glanced at the open doors. The lights of a shuttle were visible in the deepening twilight as she glided low over the runway. He waited while the pilot set the craft down not far from his position and powered down the engines. The shuttle door opened as he approached the ship.

“Commander,” said Roesaw, offering a tired but proper salute.

The pilot stepped aside and Ubarce appeared in the doorway. “Good evening, Commander.”

“Prefect Ubarce,” said Byron, offering the man the courtesy he deserved. “We’ll have twenty minutes before departing for the Nacinta. I’d like to use that time to brief you on the situation.”

The Tgren fell in step with Byron as they moved toward the closest door. Over the constant wind that blew through the hangar, Byron heard his name called. He looked up just as a voice rang in his head.

Commander Byron, a word with you!

Enteller stormed toward him, his stocky body shaking every time his boot struck the ground. One of the prefect’s security personnel trotted behind the man, followed by a Cassan officer. Byron scowled and slowed his pace. They didn’t have time for this interruption.

“Prefect Enteller,” he said with force, “we’re preparing for the conference. I will speak with you when we return.”

“I demand to be included in this conference,” Enteller said in a huff. He rocked on his heels as he came to an abrupt stop. “I have seniority over Ubarce.”

“The decision wasn’t based on seniority. Prefect Ubarce possesses the qualifications to govern should the worst come to pass.”

“Who made this decision?”

Byron turned to face Enteller, hoping his towering stance would force the enraged man to back down. Regardless of his rank, the prefect was out of line.

“I made the decision. And the other prefects voted to ratify it. Now, if you will excuse us,” Byron said, taking a step toward the door.

“I will not be excluded!” said Enteller.

“Only one prefect is to represent Tgren,” Byron said over his shoulder.

“Yes, and I am First Prefect!”

Byron paused, infuriated by Enteller’s statement. The man was a mockery of that honor. Fed up with the Tgren’s attitude, Byron no longer felt the need for diplomacy.

“Orellen was First Prefect. You have not earned that title,” he said, allowing his contempt to seep into his response.

Enteller’s eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets. A gasp escaped his lips and was cut short by a choking sound. His face flushed and Byron prepared for the ugly retort.

The prefect’s right hand gnarled and went to his chest. A wave of panic escaped the man’s mind as he dropped to his knees. Before Byron could react, Ubarce rushed forward and grabbed Enteller’s arm. The Tgren security officer moved to assist his prefect and they lowered the man to the ground.

Medical team to the hangar now! thought Byron, broadcasting his thoughts loud and clear.

Other men moved in to help. The sound of boots pounding across the hangar floor echoed in Byron’s ears. With so many surrounding Enteller, Ubarce relinquished his hold. He rose to his feet and turned to Byron. The young prefect’s concern pulsated from his mind. He genuinely cared about Enteller’s well-being. His empathy solidified Byron’s convictions regarding Ubarce as Tgren’s representative.

Four medical personnel arrived and shoved aside those gathered around Enteller. Byron waited, his mind counting the minutes as they ticked past. He needed time to brief Ubarce. If he left too soon though, it might shatter the young prefect’s faith in him. Byron didn’t dare jeopardize that.

Will he survive? thought Byron, directing his question at the medical officer in charge.

Yes, sir, the man replied, glancing up at Byron. He’s stable now. We’ll move him the moment the gurney arrives.

The officer shifted to the right and Byron caught a glimpse of Enteller. His face obscured by a mask, the man’s expression lay hidden. His eyes were open wide though.

Prefect Enteller, thought Byron, sending a private message to the man stretched out on the hangar floor. Head rolling to one side, Enteller’s gaze met Byron’s.

You will receive the best possible care in our facility, thought Byron. I truly want the best for your people. The person who represents Tgren must possess stamina and endurance as well as a vision for the future. Ubarce is more than capable of governing your people. He won’t let you down during the conference tonight.

Just save our people…

Enteller’s words were weak but not without conviction. Byron nodded, relieved the battle with Ktren’s prefect had come to a halt. For tonight anyway.

Turning on his heels, Byron strode toward the door. Ubarce followed him down a short hall and into an open room. Striding to the tall table in the center, Byron set down his tablet and touched the surface. A display of the vast space surrounding Tgren appeared.

“I need to bring you up to speed on the events leading to this war,” Byron said as Ubarce joined him, “and run down the list of leaders that will be present tonight.”

“Sir, I’m sorry about what just happened,” the prefect said, “ and I hope Enteller will be all right.”

“He’ll receive the best possible care. Obviously the events of the past week have put a strain on his heart.”

“Enteller was out of line, but he does possess first right as Ktren’s prefect.”

Turning his head, Byron met the man’s remorseful gaze. “This conference requires someone who is quick witted and can think on his feet. That is why I suggested you, and the majority of prefects voted in your favor. Now, we don’t have much time.”

Ten minutes later, they boarded the shuttle. Byron instructed Athee to notify Enteller’s second he would be in charge of Ktren until further notice.

You like to make things interesting, don’t you? she thought.

Just make sure Enteller’s second is informed and prepared. I’ll speak to you when I return.

The shuttle launched into the night sky. Byron glanced past Ubarce. He’d positioned them with a clear view out the cockpit. The teleporter hummed in his chest, surging in strength as Roesaw performed the jump.

Have you ever seen a flagship up close, Prefect Ubarce? he thought.

The man turned to him, his mouth open to speak. He hesitated and followed Byron’s gaze just as the Nacinta came into view. Excitement burst from Ubarce’s mind as the massive form of the ship floated past the cockpit window. The flagship’s surface glowed from Tgren’s sun. The exterior weapons cast long shadows that extended across her shell. The steel hull presented an impenetrable surface that stretched forever. Ubarce’s unshielded mind filled with awe.

That never grows old, Byron thought, leaning back in his seat.

The shuttle docked in the Nacinta’s hangar and an escort awaited them. They followed the man, moving at a rapid pace. Ubarce kept his face forward, but Byron caught the man’s gaze wandering as they passed Cosbolts and Dartens in formation and awaiting the next call to action. Byron recalled the short time he’d served on such a flagship with fond memories. Save for one tragic moment, of course.

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.”

“Explain this to me again!” demanded Byron, slamming his fist on the table. “Why does Bassan have to travel to the Vindicarn’s home world?”

Mevine jumped and reached behind him for something to grasp. The science officer’s mouth fell open and his lower lip trembled. Through the fury that beat at Byron’s chest, he caught Mevine’s genuine fear. At this point though, he didn’t care.

“S-sir,” Mevine said, pressing his body into the corner of his workstation. “The Fesell stated the delivery of the code had to come from the original source. It has to come from Bassan.”

Byron, what’s happening? thought Athee, her trembling words resounding in his head.

Furious with the situation, Byron slammed shields around his mind. I’ll let you know in a minute, he thought with more force than intended.

“Bassan isn’t the original source,” he said, hovering over Mevine. “The alien ship is!”

“Yes, but Bassan is the one who carries the code now.”

“Why? Because of speculation he’s part of an eleventh race?”

Mevine’s left hand slipped and he struggled to regain his balance. “Sir, I can’t explain it. But there was a connection between the alien ship and Bassan. The code downloaded into his mind because the computer determined Bassan was an original source.”

Anger continued to ripple through Byron’s mind. He wrestled with his thoughts, determined to regain his composure. The only sound that reached his ears was his own forced breath. Byron focused on that and reigned in his temper.

“A ten-year-old boy?” he challenged, gritting his teeth to prevent his voice from rising again.

“Sir, I haven’t had time to go over the full report. We’ve been working on the ship’s response. This morning the Fesell’s proposition was just a theory.”

“You knew Bassan would have to travel to the Vindicarn home world though?”

Mevine’s hesitation rekindled Byron’s fury.

“You knew and you didn’t inform me?” he demanded.

“Sir, I didn’t want to alarm you with what was speculation at the time,” stammered Mevine. Desperation colored his words. Please sir, I didn’t want to do that to you. Not again.

And what happens to my son when he downloads the code?

Sir, I don’t know…

Byron shook his head, his gaze on the desk. At the back of his mind, he sensed Athee’s presence. He’d let his shields slip. Although distraught, she didn’t interfere this time.

Without saying another word to Mevine, he strode from the lab. It didn’t matter what logic his science officer offered–Byron needed to go to the top.

Byron? thought Athee. What’s wrong?

Grinding his teeth, he started to block out his mate’s mental voice, but he couldn’t shield his thoughts forever. This concerned their son. She deserved to know.

I just received instructions for stopping the probe, he thought, keeping his mental voice steady so as not to alarm Athee. The response code must be sent from the alien ship on the Vindicarn’s home world.

But the code is here in Bassan. There was a pause and then a flash of panic. They want Bassan to travel to the Vindicarn’s planet?

That’s how I interpret it.

Bassan can’t go to the enemy’s planet! He’s never even been off Tgren.

Believe me, I’m all in favor of letting the aliens destroy the Vindicarn. Let me contact High Command and see if there’s a mistake.

Please! Our son can’t go into such a hostile environment.

Byron stormed into his office. He dropped with force into his chair and pulled up the message again.

‘Response code must be delivered through the targeted alien ship’s central computer. The leaders of the eight unaffected races must then upload their agreement to the peace treaty. Their presence and compliance is mandatory and must occur simultaneously.’

Ignoring the remainder of the message, Byron tossed aside his tablet. Stunned they would even suggest a ten-year-old boy travel to the Vindicarn planet, he sent an urgent request for a conference to High Command. While he waited for a response, Byron took several deep breaths to regain control of his temper. He couldn’t help his son if he wasn’t levelheaded during this conversation.

The screen came to life. Byron paused as the man’s face grew clear. He gripped the edge of the desk, his fingers digging into the surface. He hadn’t expected Chancellor Sorth himself.

“Commander Byron, I assume the instructions for stopping the alien ship arrived?” the man asked, resting easy in his chair.

“Yes, sir,” Byron replied. He glanced again at the message. “I would like to clarify the first line.”

“According to the Fesell and those working on this project, the probe must receive a reply from the alien ship in direct contact. Since its next target appears to be the Vindicarn home world, the code must be sent from that location.”

“Sir, are you asking me to send my son into enemy territory?”

“May I remind you they did sign the peace treaty, Commander?” stated Sorth, raising one eyebrow.

“I know they did, sir,” said Byron, choosing his next words with care. “But can we trust them?”

“If they agree to this arrangement, we’ll have no choice but to trust them.”

“With all due respect sir, I don’t know if I can agree to this arrangement.”

“Commander Byron,” said Sorth, his voice bristling with authority, “if we do not send the code to the Vindicarn and their world is destroyed, there is a good chance the Narcons and Lorvendera will refuse to cooperate when the probe reaches Tgren. With Cassa next in line, we might all suffer the same fate as the Arellens. I am not willing to take that risk. Are you?”

Byron slumped in his seat. When he was younger, bucking authority was not an issue. In his current position though, he could not refuse to comply with direct orders. Defeat rested heavy on his shoulders as he wondered how he would break the news to Athee.

Sorth’s hardened expression vanished. “Commander, I understand your concerns. Your son’s safety is important. You will be permitted to accompany him. We’ve already made arrangements for the Litheron to escort you and your son to the Vindicarn home world. If the leaders agree to this deal, you will leave this afternoon. In the meantime, review the instructions for proper uploading of the code. When the moment arrives, your son will have one chance to get it right.”

The chancellor’s words lingered long after the screen went black. Take his son to the Vindicarn home planet? Into their enemy’s lair? Peace treaty or not, Byron didn’t trust them. Too much Cassan blood had been spilled as a result of encounters with the Vindicarn.

You took my brother, thought Byron, anger burning inside as he stared at the screen. Damned if I’ll let you take my son.

Byron…

Athee, I’m sure you were listening.

I was, she thought. Her fear pounded faster than a beating heart, filling Byron with apprehension. Byron, he can’t go…

Damn it, you know the last thing I want to do is save the wretched Vindicarn. Unfortunately, this affects too many lives. We don’t have a choice. At least I’ll be with him. Now, I need you to retrieve Bassan and bring him to the hangar. We need to go over the procedure with Mevine.

His mate didn’t respond, but Byron knew she’d comply. Her distress bothered him, shaking the dark core of emotions he never wanted to experience again. Athee required comfort, but in his current state, he was in no position to give any. Controlling the rage within was all Byron could manage.

Grabbing his tablet, he forwarded the message to Ubarce. He sent an urgent thought to his senior science officer next.

Mevine, you are to meet me in the alien ship’s control center.

Yes, sir, Mevine thought, his tone meek and submissive. I’m already on my way.

Uttering a growl of disgust, Byron scooped his tablet from the desk and strode toward the door. He hit the hallway, the heels of his boots striking the floor with great force. Everyone jumped aside as he passed, giving him a clear path. If they failed to offer a proper salute, Byron didn’t notice. His thoughts resided elsewhere. He had too much to accomplish before they departed.

By the time he reached the hangar, Byron had contacted both Hurend and Mard. He needed to go over instructions for the evacuation with all of his senior officers. It annoyed Byron he would be absent during preparations. If anything went wrong, if one prefect got out of line…

His computer tablet emitted an urgent beep. Dreading more bad news, he glanced at the screen. The message originated from Ubarce.

“Commander,” said the prefect, his voice wary, “I’ve reviewed the instructions regarding the probe several times.”

Byron held the screen higher. “Did you have any questions, Prefect?”

“I’m… I’m very sorry, Commander.”

His words stung Byron with their sincerity. Glancing away, Byron let the gentle morning wind cool his face. The reality of the situation at last took hold.

“So am I,” he said, his gaze returning to the concerned man on the screen. “But it appears to be the only solution.”

“Is there a risk to your son?”

Byron’s chest tightened. “We don’t know what will happen.”

Ubarce pressed his lips into a thin line of disapproval. “I was going to send my compliance.”

“As well you should. This may be our only shot. My son and I will depart on the Litheron this afternoon. I’m meeting with my senior officers before we leave and would like you to attend, if possible.”

“I’ll be there, Commander.”

The transmission ended and Byron let the computer pad drop to his side. He stared out the open hangar doors, the glow of the morning sun bright on the desert beyond. And yet it couldn’t appear more dark and foreboding.

Damn, why did it have to be the Vindicarn? Byron thought.

Chapter Twelve

Bassan pumped his legs harder. His mother moved at a brisk pace, her stride long and forceful. With her hand wrapped around his, Bassan had no choice but to keep up with her rapid gait.

Stealing a quick glance at her face, he caught the deep lines of worry across her brow and around her mouth. She’d said he was going to the alien ship to practice sending the code, but something was wrong. Sparks of anxiety leaked from her mind despite her shields, unnerving Bassan further. Was he in trouble?

They strode through the building and into the hangar. Bassan’s father awaited them beside a shuttle. On edge from his mother’s agitated state, Bassan’s fear escalated. They were taking the shuttle to the alien site? He hated flying.

Pausing in front of Bassan’s father, his mother’s body grew rigid. Bassan glanced from one to the other, but neither met his gaze. With a soft gasp, his mother pulled him forward and pushed Bassan toward his father. He glanced over his shoulder as his father led him to the entrance of the shuttle, but his mother had already turned away.

“Come on,” his father said, guiding Bassan up the ramp. “Short ride to the alien ship.”

His father placed him in a seat and fastened the harnesses. The pilot entered the main cabin and nodded at Bassan before closing the hatch. The doors sealed with a pop, locking them inside. Bassan’s breathing increased.

“It’s all right,” his father said, tightening the last harness. He slid into the seat next to Bassan. “Remember, a shuttle is much smoother than a Tgren ship.”

The engine started with a soft roar, sending a tremor through the shuttle. Bassan’s grip on his harness tightened. His lungs ached for air and he opened his mouth, taking several deep breaths. The engines grew louder, sending panic down Bassan’s spine. A moment later, a slight jolt rumbled through the floor below him and his center of gravity shifted. They were airborne.

The motion inside the shuttle was minimal, but that didn’t stop Bassan’s imagination from straying. He pictured the ship rising higher, preparing for a sharp turn or dive.

I hate flying, he thought.

Beside him, Bassan’s father remained still, his hands clasped around his computer pad. Something wasn’t right. Glancing at his father’s face, Bassan noticed the same, cold expression his mother had worn when she’d escorted him to the shuttle. They were unhappy. Bassan wondered what he could’ve done to displease his parents.

“Father, are you angry with me?”

“No, I’m not angry with you.”

“Are you sure?”

His father shook his head and lowered his tablet, his gaze on the shuttle floor. Confused, Bassan held still and waited. His father took a deep breath.

“I am not mad at you,” his father said. “I’m mad at the situation.”

Bassan opened his mouth to speak but no sound emerged. His father turned to look at him.

“This afternoon, you and I are leaving Tgren. One of the Cassan flagships will carry us to the Vindicarn’s home world. The probe will be there in less than three days and we need the code in your head to stop it.”

They were leaving Tgren? Bassan’s stomach dropped as dizziness overcame him.

“We’re going to the Vindicarn’s planet?” he said, stumbling over his question.

“Yes, that’s the probe’s next target,” his father replied. “The leaders have agreed to peace, which means we must send the code from the Vindicarn’s world.”

“I thought they were our enemies?”

His father nodded. “They have been our enemies for many years. That’s why I am angry. But if they’ve agreed to peace for the sake of saving their planet, then there’s nothing I can do.”

Bassan swallowed, his throat tight. “Will they still be our enemies even after we stop the probe?”

“I don’t know, Bassan.”

His mind reeling, Bassan opened his mouth to ask another question. His father gave his knee a shake, his eyes intense.

“It doesn’t matter, though. By doing this, we’ll save Tgren, understand? We’ll save Cassa and all of the other races.”

Clinging to his harness, Bassan nodded. His father smiled.

“You will save the remaining races.”

Pride colored his father’s words. Bassan’s heart jumped. If he helped save the races, it would please his father. Buoyed by confidence, Bassan offered a hesitant smile. That knowledge didn’t eliminate his fear of leaving Tgren, but it helped.

“Good,” his father said, patting his leg.

A hum vibrated in his chest. Bassan closed his eyes as the sensation grew stronger. Sweat formed in his palms and he clung to his harness in desperation. A touch on his mind sent a jolt through his nerves.

That’s the teleporter, his father thought. Feel it?

Bassan held his breath. His father’s words carried an edge of excitement. Focusing on the hum, and the reassuring presence in his head, Bassan shoved aside his fear as the ship jumped. When the hum stopped, he opened his eyes one at a time. They were still inside the shuttle.

See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?

A moment later the shuttle shuddered and all movement ceased. The engines grew softer and a soft hiss signified the opening of the hatch. Bassan eased his grip on the harness. He’d made it.

His father helped with his harness and led him down the ramp. Bassan looked up at the buildings surrounding the cave entrance. The day his class visited, the place had bustled with life, but today only silence greeted them. Concerned, Bassan looked up at his father.

“Where is everyone?” he said.

His father placed a hand on his back, ushering Bassan toward to the steps. “Making preparations in case we have to evacuate.”

“We’re not sending the code in my head to the probe today, are we?”

“No, we’re just practicing.” His father patted his head and pushed Bassan forward. “Come on, Officer Mevine is waiting for us.”

As they approached the cave, the whine of fighter engines broke the silence. Familiar with Cosbolts, Bassan wondered why the pitch was higher. Curious, he glanced up at the sky. Three vessels closed in on their position. Bassan gasped.

They were not Cosbolts.

“Run to the cave!” his father ordered, shoving him forward. “Run to Officer Mevine.”

Balling his hands into fists, Bassan pumped his arms and forced his legs to move. Gravel flew up behind him as he raced toward the cave entrance. The sound of his rapid footsteps reverberated off the empty buildings as he passed. The echo seemed hallow. Something wasn’t right though. Slowing his pace, he glanced over his shoulder.

His father disappeared into the shuttle, and the hatch closed behind him. The fighters were almost upon them, their engines screaming. Stumbling, Bassan regained his footing and paused to watch. Soaring past the entrance of the cave, the ships banked to the left and rocketed skyward.

Glancing at the shuttle, Bassan caught sight of his father’s image in the cockpit. He’d taken the pilot’s seat, which puzzled Bassan.

Damn it, Bassan, run!

Motivated by fear and the threat in his father’s tone, Bassan ran for the cave. The shuttle roared to life behind him, but he didn’t turn to look. Fighting the slope leading to the cave’s entrance, Bassan dug in his heels. His boots struck solid rock and he stumbled forward. The brilliance of the morning sun vanished as he entered the cave.

Bassan took several steps before slowing his pace. Gasping for air, he glanced back at the cave opening. The sounds outside were muffled. Bassan stopped and listened, straining to catch the shuttle’s engine. Resting a hand on the cave wall, he caught his breath. Reaching for his father’s mind, Bassan caught a view of the three ships from behind.

He’s chasing them with the shuttle? Bassan thought.

Ignoring the order to run to Mevine, Bassan returned to the cave entrance. He edged forward, scanning the valley. He could hear the fighters, but they were out of sight. Leaning forward, Bassan peered up at the sky.

Where are they? he thought.

The air grew still. Pressing his back against the cave wall, Bassan waited.

The blast of laser fire caught his attention. He glanced in the direction of Ktren just as two ships appeared, rounding the mountain’s crest. The fighter rocked back and forth, attempting to shake its pursuer. The shuttle loomed large behind the thin ship, like a great beast about to capture its prey. Lasers fired from the Cassan vessel, striking the wing of the tiny fighter. Smoke and fire poured from the ship, and it lost altitude. The tiny fighter dipped lower and hugged the ground. The shuttle fired one more time, severing the wing. The fighter dropped and struck the end of the runway. Tilted at an angle, it slid the entire length before coming to a rest in the scrub brush.

Bassan cried out. He’d never seen a ship go down before.

The roar of fighters caught his attention. Looking up, he saw the other two ships cross the ridge of the mountain. The shuttle turned and rose in pursuit. In a flash, all three vessels vanished from view.

He turned his attention to the downed fighter. Listing on its side, its good wing pointing toward the sky, the ship showed no sign of life. Wisps of smoke drifted from the far side of the craft, curling into the morning air. The markings revealed no allegiance to any race. Bassan couldn’t even place the fighter. Everything about the ship was a puzzle.

Glancing at the sky, he listened for the other fighters. The morning breeze brought with it no sound. The fight was now beyond the horizon.

Bassan examined the downed fighter. A building obscured a portion of his view and he couldn’t see the tail. If the race’s markings only occupied the rear of the vessel, he wouldn’t see it from his vantage point. He needed to move closer.

Creeping down the hill, he sidled up to the closest building. Pressing his body flat against the surface, Bassan edged forward. He kept his mind shielded, afraid his parents would detect his actions. He hated to get into trouble, but Bassan wanted to see the ship up close. Slipping around the corner, he came in view of the craft, but still couldn’t see the tail.

Legs quivering, Bassan walked closer, one hand on the side of the building. If he could just get a good look at the ship, he’d have bragging rights over the other boys. None of them had been this close to an alien ship. Drent would be really impressed. Bassan held his breath and peered around the corner.

The ship rested on its side, the cockpit angled away from Bassan. Its streamlined body boasted many marks and scores from laser fire. Its shape and size suggested a Vindicarn ship, but Bassan couldn’t recall this model from his studies. The tail provided no clues either. It featured the same, drab grey as the rest of the fighter.

Pushing off from the building, Bassan stepped closer. The remaining wing pointed skyward and he gazed up at the engine. Larger than his own body, the engine dangled from the wing and moved in the breeze. Several bolts were missing, their empty holes rusty with decay. Bassan wondered who would be brave enough to fly a ship in such a state of disrepair.

The acrid smell of burnt metal filled his nostrils. Moving closer to the ship’s nose, Bassan noticed smoke still trailing up from the other side of the fighter. As he watched, the wind changed, sending a cloud of fumes his direction. The scorched metal smelled awful. Bassan coughed and staggered a few steps to get away from the smoke.

A snap caught his attention and he looked up. A dark skinned man stood at the nose of the plane, gun in hand and pointed at Bassan. A cry escaped his lips and Bassan reached out to contact his father. To his horror, a clamp came down over his mind, silencing his thoughts.

The man edged forward, the fingers of his free hand trailing along the nose of the craft. Bassan’s mouth went dry and his knees began to shake. The pilot’s eyes narrowed, adding more creases to his rough skin. His eyes were almost black, far darker than his ashen skin. The dark orbs stirred memories of nightmares long since forgotten. Bassan tried to look away but his body refused to cooperate. Rooted to the spot, he waited as the man drew closer.

The faint sound of fighter engines echoed through the canyon and the man jumped. Baring his teeth, he leapt forward and grabbed Bassan’s wrist.

“Come on, damn it,” he cried, yanking Bassan forward.

Too afraid to protest, Bassan let the man pull him into the scrub brush. The pilot’s long legs moved fast and Bassan struggled to maintain the same pace. He tripped over a rock and went down on one knee. The man’s grip tightened, pulling Bassan to his feet. Glancing at the sky, the pilot continued to run farther into the canyon, dragging Bassan behind him.

Focused on running, Bassan didn’t have time to be scared. He concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, his gaze fixed on the ground. The sand below his feet passed in a blur. Breath ragged from running so hard, Bassan knew he was reaching the limits of his endurance. What would the man do to him if he collapsed?

The land sloped upward. The desert floor gave way to rock and Bassan strained to maintain his balance. More than once, his free hand touched the ground. The man continued to pull him along. Bassan longed to beg him to stop, but he couldn’t form the words. He tried again to reach out to someone. The wall around his mind held fast, squelching the desperate cry to his parents. Bassan was cut off from the rest of the world.

Rocks slid under his feet, tumbling to the valley floor below. He fought to maintain his footing on the slippery slope. The man moved with great agility over the surface, dragging Bassan behind him. Winded and tired, Bassan glanced up, hoping their destination was in sight. In that brief moment, his left foot came down wrong. Bassan fell forward, his knees striking the rocky surface. The jolt sent a surge of pain up his legs. Bassan cried out as the man took another step, dragging him across the rocks.

To his surprise, the pilot stopped. Bassan’s chest heaved as he gasped for air. His knees throbbed and he shifted his position. Dropping his head, Bassan closed his eyes.

The wind drifted over his body. It cooled his overheated skin and whistled past his ears. Grateful for a moment to recover, Bassan remained on his aching knees and sucked air into his lungs.

Over his ragged breaths, he heard the sound of a fighter engine. Before he could look up to confirm the source of the noise, the man yanked him to his feet.

“Move!”

The threat in the man’s deep voice forced Bassan to scramble up the slope behind him. The sound of ships approaching grew louder. Any moment now, they would see him.

The man pulled him forward and shoved his head down. Hitting the ground, Bassan found himself sliding headlong down a tunnel. The rough surface tore at his hands and exposed elbows. He hit a rocky surface, slowing his forward progress. Ducking his head, Bassan tucked his body and rolled. He landed against a rough wall of rock, his back absorbing the impact.

Behind him, a loud thump was followed by a rapid scraping noise. Bassan lifted his head. What little light drifted down from the cave’s entrance wasn’t enough to illuminate the cave. However, he caught the outline of a man against the faint rays of light. Bassan reached behind him, hoping the cave extended farther. He was smaller than his captor. Perhaps he could squeeze through a tiny fissure in the mountain and put some distance between him and the man. To his dismay, his fingers found only solid rock.

A light appeared in the darkness. Bassan gasped as the luminance filled the cave. His eyes adjusted and he noticed a small bar of light in the man’s hand. Bassan’s captor pressed his back against the rock, one hand holding the light away from the entrance and his gun in the other. Outside, the sound of fighters swelled. Bassan tried one more time to reach out with his mind. The barrier only tightened further.

The noise from the ships grew distant. The man’s head fell against the wall and he took a deep breath. Bassan remained in his crouched position, afraid to move. His hands and elbows hurt, although it was nothing compared to the throbbing in his knees.

Don’t cry, Bassan thought. Father would be brave.

The man’s chin dropped. In the confined space, his rapid breath wheezed in an eerie rhythm. The pilot lifted his head and rapped it against the cave wall several times.

“Damn it,” he exclaimed.

Bassan shifted his body. The sound drew the man’s attention. Terrified, Bassan froze. The pilot wrinkled his nose and sneered.

“What were you doing out there, boy?” he said.

The man’s annoyed tone scared Bassan further and he held his tongue. Moving with caution, he sat up and pressed his back against the rock. He had to find a way to escape and soon. Why had he wanted to see the ship up close?

Father will be so angry, he thought.

His captor looked away, his attention on the narrow cave opening. Bassan studied his face, confused by the man’s appearance. His features were at odds with his complexion and dark, shaggy hair. Since his ship resembled a Vindicarn fighter, Bassan had assumed the man of the same race. The skin of the Vindicarn resembled cooled, molten lava though. His captor’s complexion was just a rough but an ashen grey rather than pitch-black. The man’s head seemed rounder as well. As for the full head of hair, Bassan knew that wasn’t possible. The Vindicarn were bald.

“You’re not Vindicarn,” he gasped.

Horrified he’s spoken aloud, Bassan sucked in his breath. The man turned to face him, his head tilting to one side.

“I’m half Vindicarn,” said the pilot.

Bassan drew his knees closer to his chest. “What’s the other half?”

“Cassan.”

A gasp of surprise escaped Bassan’s lips. His captor appeared annoyed and Bassan regretted his quick reaction. He held his tongue and stared harder at the man, his spine tingling. The pilot was a half-breed!

“And just what are you?” said the man, lowering his gun. “I’m not real familiar with Tgrens, but you seem rather pale for a native.”

Bassan swallowed and sat up straighter. “My mother is Tgren and my father Cassan.”

“Seems we have something in common then.”

He set down the light and reached for his right shoulder. The man grimaced and adjusted his position against the rock.

“Damn shuttle pilot,” he mumbled, staring at the cave entrance. “I’ve never seen anyone fly like that.”

“That was my father,” said Bassan.

The man’s head snapped around and Bassan pressed his back hard against the wall. Why did I say that out loud? he thought.

“Your father is a shuttle pilot?”

When Bassan greeted his question with silence, the man leaned forward. “Answer me!”

“He’s a Cosbolt pilot,” Bassan said, his body shaking, “and commander of the Cassan base.”

The man’s sharp bark of laughter reverberated in the tiny cave. Bassan pulled his knees even closer to his chest.

“Great, I just took the commander’s son hostage,” the man said, dropping his head against the wall. His lips curled into a sneer, blurring the grin on his face. “Damn, this just isn’t my day.”

Rolling his head to one side, the pilot peered up the open shaft. The arm holding the gun rested across his stomach, and the nose almost touched the ground. Escape tempted him, but Bassan knew he didn’t stand a chance against the weapon. He couldn’t overpower his captor, either. He reached out with his mind and met a wall of resistance again.

“Sorry, boy,” said the man, his head still turned. “I can’t have you calling for help.”

“You’re shielding my mind?” Bassan said. “How?”

The pilot flashed a grin. “Call it one of the few benefits of my Vindicarn heritage.”

“You don’t like the Vindicarn?”

“I have no allegiance to them.”

His attention shifted to the sound of another ship passing. The engine’s pitch was lower and full of rumble. Bassan suspected it belonged to a shuttle–probably his father’s shuttle. He was right outside, and Bassan had no way to contact him.

Frustrated with his predicament, Bassan released his legs and let his hands drop to the cave floor. His feet slid forward, sending pinpricks of pain through his knees. The sound caused the man to lift the nose of the gun. Bassan held his position. His knees protested the angle and before he could stop them, his legs straightened out in front of him. The man lost interest and Bassan’s shoulders slumped with relief.

The wind blowing into the cave brought no sound with it. Bassan wondered how many time his father would fly up and down the canyon searching for him. He had no idea how far they’d run or how much time had elapsed. He and his father were supposed to leave for the Vindicarn world this afternoon. What would happen if his father didn’t find him in time?

“Sir?” said Bassan, his voice cracking.

The man didn’t turn his head. Clearing his throat, Bassan tried again.

“Please, you have to take me back,” his said, raising his voice.

“So they can imprison me for kidnapping the commander’s son? No thanks.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Look, boy,” said the pilot, swinging around to face Bassan. “I get that you’re scared. But I can’t let you go. Not until my friends come to get me.”

Bassan sat up straighter, a spark of hope in his heart. “When are they coming?”

“Probably tonight, if we can remain hidden for that long.”

Tonight? Bassan couldn’t wait until evening. Rolling to his side, he pulled closer to the man. The pilot raised the gun in warning.

“Please, I’m supposed to board a flagship this afternoon with my father,” he said, ignoring the fear pulsating through his body. “We need to get to the Vindicarn’s world before the probe reaches it.”

The man laughed and brushed the hair away from his face. “Why would you want to go there? The last time I checked, the Vindicarn were at war with the Cassans.”

“Because I hold the code in my head for stopping the alien probe!”

Raising one eyebrow, the pilot cast a skeptical stare at Bassan. “Right.”

“I can prove it,” said Bassan, edging closer. “Go into my head and find it.”

“You’d actually want me in your head?”

“If it would convince you to let me go!”

Bassan scooted another foot closer to the man. The invasion of his mind scared him, but not nearly as much as what would happen if he missed that flagship. His father would be furious.

“Why are you so eager to help your enemy?”

“Father said if we stop the probe there, it will save all the races.”

With surprising agility, the man sprung to his feet and into a crouched position. Bassan gasped and recoiled as the gun hovered close to his face, the barrel dark and threatening.

“And what makes you think the Vindicarn will even allow you on their planet?” the pilot asked.

“They agreed to the peace treaty,” Bassan answered, the tremble in his muscles extending to his voice.

The man’s dark eyes burned with disbelief. Bassan didn’t move. He feared the pilot would grow tired of dealing with his prisoner and shoot Bassan dead.

Uttering a disgusted grunt, the man stepped back and went down on one knee. The rounded muzzle of the gun drooped as he drew it closer to his body. Drained by the experience, Bassan dropped to one elbow.

“It will never last,” the man said, shaking his head. “Not sure if it’s harder for my people during times of war, or peace.”

He kicked at a rock and sat down with his back against the cave wall. “And today was supposed to be an easy raid.”

“A raid? What were you after?”

“Medical supplies, food, anything of value we could sell. We’d scouted the area and knew activity had dwindled. Land, load the ships, and take off. Didn’t anticipate a pursuit. Our ships’ teleporters take forever to recharge. Damn, that old fighter’s weapons didn’t even work anymore.”

The rumble of engines distracted him. The noise was louder this time, but the results were the same. To Bassan’s chagrin, the ship continued past their cave.

His captor’s last words hung in his mind. “Why would you attack in a ship without weapons?” he said. It sounded like suicide to Bassan.

“We weren’t attacking, boy,” said the man, wrinkling his nose. “We were going to slip in and out undetected.”

“But rogue pirates attack and destroy other ships,” Bassan exclaimed, sitting upright. “They raid the cities of Tgren and our Cassan fleet.”

“Is that what they teach you? Boy, you have a lot to learn. Hundreds of illegal outfits prey upon ships and planets on the outskirts. And like us, they use whatever ships they can acquire. But they are not Rogues. They are not our people.”

“Your people?” said Bassan.

The man brought his fist down on the cave’s floor. “They aren’t mixed breeds. Means they’re not Rogues.”

Excitement stirred in Bassan. “All of you are half-breeds?”

“Some of us are multiple breeds and a mixture of all the races. That’s why we owe no single race our allegiance.”

Bassan gasped and smiled. “You’re the eleventh race,” he cried. “That means there can be peace.”

Laughter burst from the pilot. “When the races don’t even want to acknowledge our existence? That will never happen, boy.”

“But it can—”

“You talk too much. Go back to your corner.”

“Please, I must go!”

Bassan bit his lip as the man raised the gun and held it at arm’s length. No amusement adorned the pilot’s face now. Scooting backward on his rear end, Bassan slid to the far side of the tiny cave. He struck the wall with such force that the air left his lungs. Wheezing several times, he finally caught his breath. By the time he looked up at his captor, the gun rested again in his lap and the man stared at the cave’s opening.

I’ve got to get out of here, Bassan thought.

Engines rumbled overhead several times. Bassan’s foot began to twitch with nerves. The day was slipping away from him. If he couldn’t escape or persuade the Rogue to take him back soon, he wouldn’t reach the flagship in time.

Why did I have to see the tail of the ship? He crossed his arms across his chest, fighting the nausea churning in his stomach. Mother and Father will both kill me!

Glancing at his captor, Bassan contemplated making a run for the entrance. The memory of the gun pointed at his face chilled him and crushed that idea. He didn’t want to die.

The pilot’s head dropped against the back of the cave wall, his eyes unfocused. His brows came together, intensifying the man’s ever-present scowl. Bassan leaned forward, hope surging through his body. The man was communicating with someone via telepathy. This might be Bassan’s only chance to escape.

His knees protested as he rose to a crouch. He edged forward, lifting his feet with care. The man’s eyes remained unfocused as he concentrated on his conversation. The person had to be far away to require his full attention. Bassan took another step and looked up. The cave’s entrance was almost within reach…

“Damn it!”

Startled by the outburst, Bassan lost his balance. He reached forward, hoping for enough momentum to send him scrambling up the cave’s slope before the man realized what was happening. He miscalculated the distance and his left foot slipped. Landing hard on his knee, Bassan cried out in pain and rolled to his left. A rough hand grabbed his arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” exclaimed the man, hovering over Bassan.

“Please!” said Bassan, holding up his hands. “You have to let me go. Everyone will die otherwise.”

“Shut up!”

“My people will be wiped out by the probe,” Bassan screamed. “Tgren doesn’t have any ships!”

The man shoved Bassan away and released him. His chest heaving, Bassan pulled his body into a sitting position. Crouching by the passageway, the Rogue rubbed his forehead and gazed up at the light. Despair filled the pilot’s black eyes. Something bad had happened. Whatever drove the man now, it wasn’t good.

Now that he was closer to the sunlight, Bassan could see his knees. The fabric had torn on both sides, and his knees were scraped and bloody. His left knee oozed fresh blood, and it trickled down the side of his pale blue pants. He found the sight both fascinating and nauseating. Bassan’s breath grew shallow and his heart began to race.

A hand came down over his left knee. Bassan cried out in fear as well as pain. He looked up to discover the Rogue’s face filling his vision.

“Here,” the man said, seizing Bassan’s left hand. He brought it down next to his own. “Hold the gauze in place.”

Releasing Bassan’s knee, the man moved away. Peering closer, Bassan noted a large medical gauze now covered his wound. He adjusted his hold and looked up at his captor. The man knelt on the other side of the narrow passage and shook his head.

“Damn it, I’m screwed,” he mumbled, his shoulders sagging. The pilot glanced at Bassan. “Just my luck I’d grab the commander’s boy. I guess you are really damned important. According to my friends, every ship on that base is in the air right now. Not a chance I’ll make it until nightfall.”

“Please,” said Bassan, seizing what might be his only opportunity. “Please let me go. I have to be on that flagship. If I don’t stop the probe before it destroys the Vindicarn’s world, my people will all die. Tgren ships can’t go into space. Only Cassan ships can do that. And we don’t have enough to save but a few.”

The man shook his head. “You speak as if they were both your people.”

Bassan lifted his chin. “They are.”

The man shifted his stance and fell onto his side. He looked up over his head at the sunlight streaming into the tiny cave. From that angle, Bassan could see the Cassan features of the man very clearly. His chin was rounded rather than pointed. And even though his skin appeared rough and wrinkled, it was far less than the images of Vindicarn faces Bassan recalled from his classes. Taking the dark, wavy hair into consideration, and in that light, the man appeared more Cassan than anything else.

The sound of engines drifted on the breeze. Bassan caught his breath. He tested the barrier around his mind and discovered it still in place. Leaning forward, he prepared to make one final plea for his release.

“I guess it’s as good a day to die as any,” said the man, brandishing the gun in front of his face. His gaze met Bassan’s and he gestured toward the cave’s entrance. “You better get going.”

“You’re letting me go?” said Bassan, stunned by the man’s sudden change of heart.

“Never meant to hurt you. I just heard someone approach my ship and thought for sure I was dead. I wouldn’t have hurt or killed you though. For what it’s worth, I hope you believe that, boy.”

“Bassan. My name is Bassan.”

The man offered a faint smile. “Bassan,” he said. He held the gun across his chest. “Now, go home, Bassan. Go save your people.”

Still holding the gauze against his knee, Bassan slid across the cavern floor to the shaft. He looked up and the sunlight almost blinded him. Ducking his head, Bassan’s gaze fell on the Rogue. Face drawn with resignation, the pilot offered a lifeless stare. The man’s chest heaved, the gun pressed hard against his flight suit. Staring at the weapon, it suddenly dawned on Bassan what the man intended to do.

“Please, you can’t,” he said, horrified the pilot planned to take his own life.

“Bassan, they’ll probe my mind for the location of the other Rogues. Afterward I’ll just rot in a Cassan prison,” the man replied. “Either way, I’ll never see my family again. I have to protect them.”

“You have a family?”

“Yes, a little girl. And a boy.” The pilot reached out and touched Bassan’s shoulder. A smile crossed his lips. “He’s maybe two years younger than you. A fighter though…just like you.”

Bassan’s mouth drifted open. He glanced up at the cave’s opening. No noise drifted down the thin shaft now, but if all of the squadrons were in the air, it wouldn’t be long before another ship passed overhead. He had time. Making a decision, he turned back to the Rogue pilot.

“Come with me,” he said.

The man closed his eyes. “Bassan, go on. You don’t need to see this.”

“No!” Bassan exclaimed. He seized the hand wrapped around the gun. “Don’t you see? You’re the proof. You can convince the Vindicarn.”

The Rogue stared at Bassan as if he were crazy. “Convince them of what?”

“That Cassans and Vindicarn can get along. That the races have so much in common that they shouldn’t be enemies.”

“The only thing that will happen is I’ll be thrown in a maximum security prison. After they’ve hunted down my family!”

“I’ll tell them not to.”

Scowling, the man pulled his weapon free from Bassan’s grasp. “You’re wasting time. Now, get out of here!”

“Not if I have to leave you here to die—”

“You can’t save me!”

The man shoved Bassan aside. Anger welled up inside of Bassan and he slapped the rocky slope with the palms of his hands.

“Yes I can!” he said. “I am the commander’s son and the one in possession of the code. And it they want me to get on that flagship and go all the way to the Vindicarn’s planet, then they are damn well going to listen to me.”

The pilot’s wide eyes confirmed the effect of his words. Bassan grasped a rock over his head and prepared to pull himself up the tunnel. Holding out his hand, he waited for the man to grasp it.

“Bassan, if I go with you, I’ll never see my family again,”

“Yes you will, I promise. You’re the eleventh race, just like me. Everyone will see you and realize peace with the Vindicarn is possible, including my father.”

Leaning his head back, the man clutched both hands to his chest. “If your father hates the Vindicarn as much as most Cassans, then I’m not going to change his mind. He’ll see his enemy in me.”

“I don’t,” said Bassan, surprised by the man’s protest. “You are as much a Cassan as I am.”

The pilot’s eyes narrowed. “Bassan, if you are wrong about this…”

“I’m not! Now, come on. We have to get to that flagship.”

Grasping his hand, the Rogue gave it a good shake. He released Bassan and rolled onto his stomach. Bassan began to climb, glancing back to be sure the man followed. The Rogue was right behind him, and he continued up the rocky surface. The light grew brighter and within seconds, Bassan climbed out of the tunnel. Blinded by the brilliance, he kept his head down. Glancing under his arm, he confirmed that the pilot had followed him to the surface.

They struggled to their feet. Bassan’s knees threatened to give out on him, but the man provided balance. Hands gripped his shoulders and Bassan met the man’s gaze.

“You better be right about this,” he said, fingers squeezing Bassan.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Bassan said.

“I know you’re not lying. I just hope you’re right.”

The man released him and Bassan staggered back a step. The Rogue straightened his back.

“Your mind is your own again,” he said. “And the name’s Piten.”

Bassan nodded. “Thank you, Piten.”

Standing tall, Bassan reached out for his parents. Father! Mother! I’m here.

Bassan! they thought in unison.

Are you all right? his mother thought.

Where are you? thought his father.

Scanning the valley, Bassan saw nothing familiar. He couldn’t answer that question. “Where am I?” he said, bewildered.

Piten pointed at an unusual outcropping of rocks. “Give that as a reference.”

Concentrating on the formation, Bassan projected the image with his mind.

We just flew past those rocks, his mother thought with a gasp. Bassan, stay there. I’m coming.

Are you alone?

His father’s tone caused Bassan to cast a wary glance at Piten. No, but it’s all right. I found someone who can help us.

Help us? How? his father thought.

With the Vindicarn. You’ll understand when you meet him. He’s one of the eleventh race, like me, thought Bassan. He smiled at Piten. “My mother’s coming.”

“Let’s get to level ground then.”

They were almost to the valley floor when the roar of a shuttle filled the air. A shadow passed over them and Bassan looked up. The shuttle turned and he caught sight of his mother in the co-pilot’s seat. Elation filled him and Bassan waved both hands over his head. The motion caused him to lose his balance, but a hand grabbed his elbow.

“Easy,” said Piten. “They see us.”

The shuttle adjusted its position, looking for a suitable landing spot. Bassan stumbled down the remaining slope, eager to reach his mother. The ship came to rest on a patch of sandy ground and the shuttle hatch opened. His mother emerged and Bassan pumped his legs harder, ignoring the pain in his knees. Breaking into a run, his mother met him halfway. Uttering a joyful cry, he threw his arms around her neck.

“Bassan,” she cried in his ear, holding him fast.

Before he could speak, she spun around and placed him behind her body. Bassan looked up to see her holding a gun at arm’s length.

“Mother, wait!” he said, squirming to break free of her grasp.

“Don’t come any closer!” she called to Piten.

The Rogue pilot stopped several paces away, his hands out at his sides. Bassan tugged at his mother’s side.

“No, don’t!” he begged, terrified she would kill him on the spot. “I promised Piten no one would hurt him.”

Two security guards appeared at his mother’s side, weapons raised. “Don’t move,” one of them told Piten.

“Mother, please,” Bassan begged. He wiggled from her grasp and grabbed her free arm. “He can help us. Don’t shoot him.”

“Bassan, he’s a Vindicarn,” his mother said, her gaze still fixed on Piten.

“He’s half Vindicarn,” cried Bassan, raising his voice, “and half Cassan!”

His mother glanced at him, brows together. “Half Cassan?”

“Yes! He’s a half-breed like me. One of the eleventh race. And Piten might be able to convince the Vindicarn they can live in peace with the Cassans.”

“This man attacked us and kidnapped you.”

“Please,” he implored, tugging on her hand. “It’s a misunderstanding. He didn’t attack anyone. His ship doesn’t even have weapons! And I gave him my word no one would hurt or imprison him if he came with me.”

Her gaze returned to Piten. Bassan watched her face, hopeful she would see beyond the ashen complexion. When she hesitated, he offered one last plea.

Trust me, I know he can help us. Please, he’s just like me!

His mother frowned, but her weapon lowered. Stepping aside, she nodded at the two security guards.

“We’ll take him in for questioning,” she said to the men.

Mother? thought Bassan, watching in fear as the security officers approached Piten.

We’ll take him with us and see what your father has to say. That man is not getting on the shuttle without restraints, though.

“Piten, it’s all right,” he called, afraid the man would take action to defend himself. The pilot stared hard at Bassan, the wrinkles deep across his forehead.

You better be right, the Rogue thought, his mental voice weak.

The security guards removed his gun and secured his hands. They searched Piten before escorting him into the shuttle, but other than a packet of emergency medical supplies, the Rogue carried no other items. Bassan’s mother waited until the men were inside the ship before leading Bassan up the ramp. She fastened him into the first seat, fussing over his knees before taking the seat beside him. Once secure in her harness, she laid a hand alongside his cheek and pulled him closer. Loving relief poured from his mother and Bassan soaked up the affection.

As the hatch closed, Bassan leaned forward and peered around his mother. Near the rear of the craft, Piten sat in a seat on the other side, his gaze on the ceiling. Jaw set, he appeared resigned to his fate. Bassan was more determined than ever to keep his promise.

Mother, he thought, peering up at her. You have to help me convince Father.

Bassan, I’ll do what I can. But that man is a pirate and a criminal. They attack ships and kill their crews. One of the southern cities was attacked just last year.

They weren’t Rogues. Piten told me there are others who attack the ships. Real pirates. He said his people are called the Rogue and they don’t attack ships or cities.

He could’ve been lying to you, his mother thought, stroking his cheek.

I don’t think he was, though! And he said Rogues are all half-breeds, like me. They’re a mix of all the races. Officer Mevine said that’s the eleventh race. That means we can all live in peace.

His mother’s brows came together. Releasing her hold on Bassan, she glanced over her shoulder. He leaned forward, peering around her. Piten’s head listed to one side, his gaze on the pair. Under the artificial lights of the main cabin, his skin’s ashen color was even more pronounced.

Mother, thought Bassan as her attention returned to him, I gave him my word. Please convince Father that Piten can help us. If he helps us, maybe we can let him go home to his family. That’s all he really wants. Piten wants to see his son and daughter again.

Sighing, her head touched his and she held Bassan’s hand. You have such a compassionate heart.

Is that good?

His mother turned her head and kissed his forehead. Yes.

Bassan arched his neck and smiled at his mother. She clasped his hand in her own and gave it a firm squeeze.

I will speak to your father. He has the final say though, she thought, and he won’t have much time to decide.

I didn’t miss the flagship, did I? thought Bassan. He imagined the flagship taking off for Vindicarn without him and his fear renewed. Father would be so angry…

His mother laughed, dispelling his concerns. Bassan, it’s going anywhere without you.

Chapter Thirteen

Byron watched the shuttle land with growing impatience. They had only an hour before the scheduled departure to the Litheron. With the morning’s hours consumed by the search for Bassan, it left precious little time for preparations. Byron had so much to cover with his senior officers.

Of all the days for a damned rogue pirate attack, he thought, grinding his teeth as he approached the ship. Two security officers followed close behind in anticipation of the prisoner on board the shuttle.

He leapt onto the ramp even before it touched the ground. Byron’s gaze fell on his son as Athee helped Bassan to his feet. In two strides, he’d closed the distance and grabbed his son’s shoulders.

“Where have you been?” he asked, bending down to peer into Bassan’s eyes. “Why didn’t you run to Mevine like I told you to?”

His son’s face grew long and his mouth opened without uttering a word. Bassan’s eyes blinked as tears formed. Viewing his son’s face and holding his thin shoulders reminded Byron that not an hour ago he’d thought him lost forever. His heart tightened with a vicious twist.

Releasing Bassan’s shoulders, Byron wrapped his arms around his son and hauled him in for a rough hug. Relief still tinged with fear flowed from Bassan, and Byron regretted his harsh questions. His son was alive. There would be time later for questions.

Sounds at the end of the cabin caught his attention. Opening his eyes, Byron caught sight of the man who’d kidnapped his son. His mate’s request that they consider Bassan’s captor a potential bargaining chip fled his mind. The revelation the Rogue might be the eleventh race meant nothing. He was part Vindicarn, and the man’s very presence filled Byron with rage.

Releasing Bassan, he strode toward the man. Now on his feet and between the security officers, the Rogue’s Vindicarn heritage was obvious. Fueled further by his hatred for the race, Byron grabbed the front of the man’s thin flight suit and shoved him against the wall.

“You’re damn lucky my son is all right!” he said, pressing the man into the seat’s alcove. “Don’t you realize how important he is for the survival of our race? We lose that code, and we are all dead!”

The Rogue’s face tightened and his eyes narrowed. Byron stared hard at Bassan’s abductor, unaffected by the coldness in his black eyes. The man’s hands clung to Byron’s wrists, although not with any force. The Rogue might be smart enough to resist fighting back but that didn’t quell Byron’s anger. The man had nearly cost the remaining races their lives.

“Father, please!” said Bassan. Small hands grabbed Byron’s left arm. “He can help us. Please don’t hurt him. He’s half Cassan.”

Byron continued to stare at the man. “And half Vindicarn.”

“I owe no allegiance to that race,” the Rogue spat, lifting his chin.

“Where does your allegiance reside?” Byron demanded, his grasp tightening on the man’s flight suit.

“With my people.”

“Your people?”

“My people!” the man said, his expression hard. “The thousands of Rogues that live on the fringes of the known races because you do not want to admit our existence.”

Thousands? Byron’s grip loosened on the man’s flight suit. Were there really that many half-breeds? Had the eleventh race existed for years without their knowledge?

“Father, if he comes with us, the Vindicarn will see that all of the races are connected,” Bassan said, tugging hard on Byron’s elbow. “Piten is proof.”

His son’s logic poked at the hate in Byron’s heart. The Vindicarn had killed many Cassans and Tgrens. They’d deprived Byron of his friend and brother. He could never forgive those losses. However, the man standing in front of him had committed none of those crimes. The Rogue hadn’t even returned fire when Byron shot down his ship.

Byron, thought Athee. Bassan insists this man can help us. I believe our son.

Releasing the man, Byron stepped back. The Rogue slumped into the alcove, his eyes still wary. The hands around Byron’s elbow slid to his hand.

Father, I promised Piten he wouldn’t be imprisoned.

Turning to face his son, Byron shook his head. Bassan, he kidnapped you. Why would you promise such a thing?

He wasn’t going to hurt me. It was a mistake, Besides, he can help us, thought Bassan, his eyes wide and pleading. Please, Father. He was going to kill himself once I was safely away. I couldn’t let that happen.

Kill himself?

Because he wanted to protect his family. I promised Piten if he helped us, we’d reunite him with his children.

Byron’s gaze returned to the Rogue. The man still held his chin high, but indignation no longer dominated his features. Framed by dark, shaggy hair, his face showed signs of youth despite the dark, rough skin. Byron guessed he was many years his junior and even younger than Mevine. More important, his Cassan features revealed those years, not Vindicarn.

For kidnapping my son, you’ll have to prove yourself, he thought. I don’t give a damn if you’re one of the eleventh race or not.

Byron straightened his shoulders. “Clean this man up and place him in Cassan attire,” he said to the security guards. “He’ll be traveling with us to the Litheron under light security.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the officers answered.

Turning away, he gestured for Athee to lead the way out of the shuttle. Placing a hand on Bassan’s shoulder, he guided his son down the ramp and away from the ship.

“Athee, I need you to run home and gather clothing for us,” he said to his mate.

“But Bassan is hurt,” she said, pointing at his legs.

“Take him to medical first,” Byron said, not bothering to glance down. “Then get back here quickly. Prefect Ubarce is on his way. The senior officers still need to meet before I depart.”

Her face fell. She nodded and pulled Bassan close to her body. Byron grabbed her arm.

Athee, we are running out of time. Please, it’s necessary you’re with me on this.

Just give me a chance to say goodbye to my son.

Byron’s gaze dropped. I promise, you will have time to say goodbye.

Wrapping her arms around Bassan, Athee guided him toward the exit closest to the medical facility. It was then Byron sensed her mind was closed. Athee never locked him out of her thoughts.

Hope you don’t lock me out the entire time we’re gone, he thought.

“Is everyone clear?”

Byron scanned the room. Heads nodded and the men voiced their confirmation.

“Remember, no one but authorized personnel in the alien craft,” he said, leaning against the table. “If we fail, then you may begin the evacuation of Ktren, Prefect Ireth. You’ll still have almost five days to accomplish that task.”

The man nodded, his eyes wide. Ktren’s new Prefect was young and ratified in haste after Enteller’s collapse. His rapid, jerky movements during the meeting revealed a man overwhelmed with the task before him. Orellen knew the man though, and he’d assured Byron that Ireth was capable. With the shuttle leaving soon, Byron had no choice but to trust the judgment of Athee’s uncle.

“Prefect Ubarce, I need you on the Doorthmore since it will carry the largest population of your people,” Byron said. “We’ll require someone else in a position of authority on the Nacinta as well.”

“Sir?” said Ireth, raising a finger. “One of the men on Ktren’s list is an experienced pilot and leader. The man knows how to take control of a situation.”

“Be sure Officers Hurend and Mard know his name,” said Byron. “We’re sticking to the current roster no matter what. Unless your need is pressing, all concerns and requests are to pass through Liaison Officer Athee. Should we fail to stop the alien ship, everyone will be very busy.”

He glanced at his mate. She didn’t appear happy with that arrangement, but Byron knew it would keep Athee occupied until they returned.

“You all have your orders,” he said with authority, straightening his back.

The men began to rise to their feet, the sound of their voices a low buzz in the room.

“Commander Byron!”

Ubarce’s words silenced all conversation. Byron inclined his head.

“Successful mission for you and your son, sir,” the Prefect said. “And a safe return.”

Everyone seconded the sentiment. Byron nodded in appreciation, his gaze drifting to Athee’s chair. His mate was no longer present though.

She just wants a few extra minutes with Bassan, he thought. However, he knew she was at odds with the decision, and with him.

Additional questions arose, delaying his departure. Mard followed him out of the room, clarifying last-minute details. Byron reiterated his instructions to increase security around the alien ship.

“I don’t want anyone sneaking inside and causing havoc,” he said as they entered the hangar.

“Yes, sir,” said Mard.

“And be sure to release Enteller before evacuating,” Byron added, recalling that the man still resided in their medical facility. “He is not getting a free ride on the Nacinta.”

His security officer offered a wicked smile. “With pleasure, sir. May your mission be a success.”

Mard stepped away. No longer focused on his security officer, Byron noticed Mevine had followed him into the hangar.

“Officer Mevine?” said Byron, gesturing for the man to walk with him. The science officer hustled to his side.

“Sir, I sent you instructions for uploading the code to the probe,” Mevine said, holding up his tablet. Byron glanced at the directions.

“Seems rather straightforward.”

“The key is the timing. The code needs to be in direct response to the probe’s transmission. Once it’s sent, a signal will go out to the remaining alien ships. Every race received the alien code for peace, which will be entered at that time, followed by a confirmation from all eight leaders.”

Byron’s shoulders tightened. “That’s a lot of people separated by a great distance who must coordinate together.”

Looking up from his computer pad, Mevine’s immense eyes revealed his concern. “Yes, sir. The leaders know the approximate time of arrival, though. As long as everyone is in place and the Vindicarn keep in communication, it will work.”

“They better, because we’ll all die if it doesn’t.”

They reached the shuttle, its engines purring and hatch open. Byron paused, the weight of uncertainty draining his spirit. He didn’t like the lack of control and strain this had placed on so many people.

“Sir?”

Byron turned his attention to Mevine. His science officer dropped the computer pad to his side and stared at the hangar floor. His drooping posture reminded Byron of the insecure young man he’d met twenty years ago.

“Sir, I’m sorry this had to involve your son,” said Mevine, his voice cracking. “I should’ve paid closer attention to the boys.”

“Mevine,” said Byron. Moving closer, he brought a hand down on the man’s shoulders. The science officer’s head jerked up.

“This isn’t your fault. I was angry earlier. But what appears a great misfortune and accident might just be the very thing that saves us.”

“There is just so much uncertainty. We don’t know what will happen when Bassan downloads the code. What it will do to him…”

“I’m afraid that’s a chance we have to take. If it’s within my power, nothing will happen to my son.”

Regret continued to drift from Mevine’s mind and he shifted his stance. “I just hate being responsible for placing you and your family in danger yet again.”

Byron laughed at the idea and Mevine’s mouth opened in surprise.

“I was good at placing myself in harm’s way long before I met you, my friend,” Byron said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll be all right.”

The science officer’s face broke into a smile. He stood straighter and his brows came together. “Sir, we can’t lose you.”

“Don’t worry, Mevine. I’ll be back to overwork you in five days’ time. You have my word.”

He sent the science officer on his way. As Mevine scooted across the hangar, two security officers approached with the Rogue pilot. Dressed in Cassan attire, the man’s appearance no longer exuded such a threatening vibe. Head high and shoulders squared, he strode across the hangar in between his guards with a quick step. The Rogue’s confident air did not sit well with Byron.

Byron placed himself at the base of the ramp, hands behind his back. The trio stopped before him, the security officers holding the Rogue’s arms. The man’s hands were still bound, his fingers interlaced and arms dangling in a relaxed pose. Byron frowned and took a deliberate step forward.

“These are the conditions,” he said. “You are confined to quarters on the Litheron and restricted from use of our computer system. Your sole purpose is to confirm the existence of the eleventh race. The Vindicarn may require medical tests to confirm this fact. If so, you will behave with respect toward the Vindicarn. If you step out of line, millions will die. Including many of your own people. Understood?”

“Yes,” Piten replied, his jaw set. His eyes did not reflect his somber tone.

Byron’s eyes narrowed. Taking a step closer, he placed his face close to the Rogue’s and stared hard at the man.

“You kidnapped my son. You made it personal. If you do anything to jeopardize this mission, I will end you,” he said in a low voice. “That flagship has no room for dead weight.”

The rebellious glow left Piten’s eyes. Satisfied his threat had achieved the desired result, Byron stepped off the ramp. The security officers escorted the Rogue into the shuttle and out of Byron’s sight.

The sound of footsteps behind him alerted Byron to Athee and Bassan’s arrival. He smiled at his son, pleased to see him in clothes that weren’t torn and dirty. Glancing at Athee, Byron was greeted with haunted eyes and a closed mind. She pulled the bag off her shoulder and held it out for Byron. The moment his hand clasped around the strap, Athee dropped to one knee in front of her son.

“You be good,” she said, one arm around him while her free hand stroked his hair. “You listen to your father and do what he says. And no wandering around the flagship by yourself.”

“Mother, I’ll behave, I promise,”

Athee kissed his cheek and gave Bassan a fierce hug. She rose to her feet with great effort and took a step back. Byron tried to reach her mind, but her shields continued to lock him out of her thoughts. Concerned, he touched her arm. Athee pulled free and took another step away from them. Her gaze met Byron’s for only a moment before she spun on her heels to leave.

Dropping the bag, Byron moved to intervene. They could not part under these conditions. He needed their connection over the next five days. Seizing her arm, Byron yanked Athee to him. Her hands raised in protest, pushing against his chest. Ignoring her objection, he wrapped his arms around his mate and held her fast.

“Athee,” he whispered in her ear.

She grew still and Byron stroked her hair. In a flash, her shields dissolved. A flood of painful emotions washed over him and he tightened his grip around her waist. Athee threw her arms around his neck and uttered a sob. With all barriers removed, the intensity of the moment caught Byron by surprise. His surroundings became secondary. Closing his eyes, he focused on his mate.

I can’t lose you, she thought. I can’t lose either of you!

You won’t.
No matter what happens, we’re both coming home. I promise.

When her nerves settled, Byron eased his hold so he could see her face. Athee wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and took a deep breath.

Good to know you still have that fire I so admire, he thought.

She offered a weak smile and dropped her gaze. Placing a finger under her chin, Byron forced Athee to look up. Without hesitation, he kissed her, unconcerned others might be watching. His duty resided with his title of commander, but his life and loyalty rested with his mate.

Pulling away, Byron gave her cheek a stroke before releasing Athee. You’ll be with us the whole time.

I know.

Retrieving the bag, Byron placed a hand on Bassan’s back. Glancing one more time at Athee, she managed a faint smile and nodded. Her heart was still heavy but acceptance now colored her sorrow. His mate’s mind was open again; that mattered most to Byron. Guiding Bassan up the ramp, he entered the shuttle.

Byron glanced at Piten, seated near the rear of the craft. If the man’s friends planned a rescue, the ride to the Litheron would be the best opportunity. Byron sat at attention, his body tense as the shuttle lifted up and teleported. He watched the view change beyond the cockpit, counting the seconds as the ship glided toward the cavernous maw.

When the shuttle entered the flagship’s landing bay, his muscles eased. The Rogue’s only chance for escape vanished as the interior walls of the Litheron flew past.

Setting down in the main hangar, the shuttle came to rest. Byron released his harness before assisting his son. The security guards pulled Piten to his feet and he staggered off balance.

“Release his hands,” Byron told the officers.

“Sir?” questioned one of them.

“He will be confined to quarters and requires the use of his hands,” Byron explained.

The Rogue stared at him as the guard released the metal bonds. Byron detected curiosity and wondered if it would alter the man’s attitude. Too many unknown factors surrounded the Rogue. Bassan’s promise would test Byron’s tolerance levels the next few days.

The Litheron’s commander greeted them as they exited the craft.

“Commander Byron, welcome,” he said, hands at his side and back straight. “I am Commander Wraint. It is an honor to have you on our ship.”

His ready smile was at odds with his age, which Byron guessed to be a few more years than his own. The grey dusting his short hair and deep wrinkles around temples suggested years beyond the youthful gleam in his eyes. The man’s open and eager demeanor implied he knew Byron. Racking his brain, Byron tried to remember Wraint, but he couldn’t recall the man. At least it placed him in good standing for the duration of the trip.

The commander’s pleasant smiled faded, and Byron glanced over his shoulder. Piten walked down the ramp, his stride wary as he scanned the hangar. Turning to face Wraint, Byron paused. Every Cassan in his line of sight had ceased their activity to gawk at the Rogue. His Vindicarn heritage caused a stir, sending ripples of hatred their direction. Byron had sent word of his prisoner to the commander, but those gathered in the hangar only saw one thing. Piten was their enemy despite any peace treaty.

“Commander,” said Byron, taking control of the situation. “This man is to be confined to quarters and guarded at all times, for his safety and ours. He is needed as additional proof of the eleventh race once we reach the Vindicarn’s planet.”

Regaining his composure, Wraint nodded. “Secure quarters have been arranged. As have quarters on the senior officers’ level for you and your son.”

Bassan fell in step with Byron as the commander led them toward the exit. The boy stared in awe as the cavernous hangar, oblivious to the attention their group garnered as they moved across the room. Byron glanced over his shoulder and noted four security officers walked with Piten. Considering the reactions of those they passed, he hoped it would be enough.

Commander Byron, thought Wraint. I knew your arrival would draw attention, but this is more than I’d anticipated.

I know his presence complicates matters, but we need him. If the Vindicarn continue hostilities toward us, we can use him as an example. They might be more inclined to believe in the eleventh race if we have physical proof of one who shares their heritage.

Piten was taken to a private section of quarters. Byron confirmed the room was well guarded before he permitted the security guard to lead him to the quarters he would share with Bassan. The three room suite was more than adequate and larger than anything Byron had experienced when he served on a flagship.

Byron had forgotten to ask Bassan if he’d eaten at the medical facility. The boy was probably hungry. He requested a meal in their quarters and two dishes were delivered within minutes. Judging by the rapid inhalation of his food, Byron’s son hadn’t eaten since the morning meal. His own stomach growling, Byron allowed them to eat in silence.

After a while, Bassan began to poke at his remaining food. Byron finished his meal and leaned back in his chair.

“Was it good?” he said, amused by his son’s attempt to appear as if he were eating rather than shoving his food around on the plate.

Bassan set down his fork and shrugged. “It was all right.”

“This is the good stuff. You should’ve seen what I had to eat when I served on a flagship. Some days, the food had no taste at all.”

His observation elicited a smile. The thoughts drifting from Bassan’s mind were calm and Byron decided to coax the day’s events from his son.

“Can you tell me what happened today?” he said, maintaining a non-threatening tone.

Bassan’s shoulders sagged and his hands dropped to his lap. Pressing his lips together, his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Bassan, I saw you run into the cave,” said Byron, prodding his son to speak. “What happened after that?”

Wiggling in his seat, Bassan lifted his chin. Anxious eyes met Byron’s, wide with worry. Adjusting the position of his chair, Byron assumed a more relaxed position and waited.

“When I realized you were chasing those ships with the shuttle, I wanted to watch, so I went back to the cave opening,” said Bassan, his fingers twitching in his lap. When he hesitated, Byron gestured for him to continue.

“I saw you shoot down that ship.”

Spoken with awe, Bassan’s comment reminded Byron his son had never seen him in action prior to today. He admitted such a sight would’ve intrigued him as well.

Bassan’s gaze dropped. “I wanted to know what kind of ship it was. I thought it would impress Drent and the others. So I went down to look. That’s when I ran into Piten.”

I wondered how he’d captured you, Byron thought. “Is that when he took you hostage?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bassan. He lifted his head. “I think we scared each other.”

“I imagine you did.”

Bassan slumped farther in his chair, threatening to slide right under the table. “I’m sorry, Father.”

Byron leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Bassan, do you realize what would’ve happened if we’d lost you? If your mother and I lost you?”

Distress poured from his son. Hands clenched tight in his lap, Bassan’s spine curled farther. His son’s shields lacked the strength to hold his emotions in check in Byron’s presence. Shame poured from Bassan’s mind like a raging river.

Regret tugged at Byron for placing so much guilt on his son. Bassan had acted with incredible bravery today, returning safe and in time for their departure, despite the odds. He’d even managed to turn his captor into a prisoner. No small feat for a ten-year-old.

A tear fell on Bassan’s hand. That single drop cut through Byron’s anger. Sliding off his chair, he dropped to one knee in front of his son. Bassan looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. Without hesitation, Byron wrapped his arms around his son. Bassan was still for a moment before he wiggled his arms free and placed them around Byron’s neck.

I love you so much, Byron thought, pouring his affection into his son. I don’t ever want to lose you. Outside of your mother, you are the best that ever happened in my life.

Byron closed his eyes against the strong tide of emotions in his son’s response. Bassan’s view of the world and those around him was so pure and innocent. Byron hoped it would be years before reality tarnished that vision. His own childhood might’ve been lost, but Byron was determined such would not be the case for his son.

I know you’ve been through a lot the past few weeks. It ends in two days, I promise. I’ll be with you the entire time. You have my word.

His son’s thoughts settled. Releasing Bassan, Byron placed his hand atop the boy’s head. His son wiped his tears and peered at Byron with anxious eyes.

“You look really tired,” Byron said. “Why don’t you take a nap while I go speak with Commander Wraint?”

Expecting a protest, Byron was surprised when his son agreed. He helped Bassan remove his boots and tucked his son into bed. Running his hand through Bassan’s thick hair, Byron smiled,

“I won’t be gone long,” he said. “No bad dreams, all right?”

“No bad dreams,” said Bassan, wiggling further under the covers.

Exiting their quarters, Byron paused in the hallway. The exchange with Bassan had drained his energy. He hoped they would both get some rest over the next two days.

What awaits us will take everything we’ve got, he thought, his heart heavy.

Chapter Fourteen

Bassan followed his father into the dining hall for the evening meal. The room buzzed with a thousand conversations, both mental and verbal. Those closest looked up as they passed, gazing at the pair with curiosity and awe. Casting wary glances at the men, Bassan stayed close to his father as they collected their food.

They selected an empty table, but it didn’t take long for the seats to fill around them. Bassan tried to focus on his food, aware it was rude to listen in on others’ conversation. But mention of the Vindicarn War caught his attention. Pretending indifference, Bassan took note of the comments and questions directed at his father. He knew his father’s role in the war and subsequent status as a hero. But to hear real fighter pilots talk of his father’s actions added meaning to the event. Once again, Bassan felt inadequate next to his father. As much as he disliked flying, he’d never pilot a Cosbolt, let alone attain such achievements.

Finished with his meal, Bassan set down his fork. His attention strayed to the table behind them.

“Did you see that half-breed they brought on board?” a man growled.

“He has Vindicarn in him!” another man replied.

“Damn freak. Half Cassan and Vindicarn is an abomination,” the first man said. “Ought to blow him out an airlock.”

Bassan gasped and turned to look at the men. Several laughed, but none noticed Bassan. Distraught, he turned to his father.

Father? he thought, placing a hand on his father’s arm.

His father finished his drink and met Bassan’s gaze. I heard. Don’t worry about it.

Concern for his Rogue friend gnawed at Bassan’s mind. What if every man on this ship despised Piten? Would the security officers protect the pilot?

When they left the dining hall, Bassan grabbed his father’s hand. “Can we go see Piten?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Father, please. I want to make sure he’s all right. Everyone on board seems to hate him.”

“The guards will protect him.”

“Please?” Bassan repeated, tugging hard on his father’s hand. He had to confirm Piten’s safety with his own eyes. The man was trapped on this ship because of Bassan. He’d feel terrible if something happened to Piten.

His father hesitated at the telepod door, his gaze penetrating Bassan’s very thoughts. Offering a soulful expression that usually only worked on his mother, Bassan attempted to back it up with mental determination. The moment his father looked away, he knew his ploy had met with success.

“Just for a moment,” his father said as they entered the telepod.

Two security officers guarded Piten’s quarters. His father was granted access and led the way into the room. Peering around his father, he discovered the Rogue pilot stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head. When Bassan stepped into view, Piten sat up and swung his feet to the floor. The man offered a smile, which Bassan returned at once.

“Hello, Bassan,” he said, grasping the edge of the bed with both hands. “What brings you here?”

“I…I just wanted to see if you were all right,” he replied, anxious in front of his father.

Piten cocked his head and rocked forward. “Sure, never better! I’ll have five days to do nothing but eat and sleep. Don’t think I’ve enjoyed that many days of rest my entire life.”

“You don’t spend time with your family?” said Bassan. Even his father took days off, although those were rare.

“Oh, whenever possible. Those moments are just so fleeting.”

Bassan, we should go, his father thought.

Ignoring the request, Bassan stepped forward. “Tell me more about the Rogues. How many are there?”

“How many?” Piten cast a smug glance at Bassan’s father. “Probably close to ten thousand of us across the galaxy.”

“Really?” Bassan cried. After living with the term half-breed for years, Piten’s answer provided hope. He wasn’t alone after all.

“Now, I admit there aren’t any with Tgren blood, but that’s only because the race hasn’t ventured into space. There are quite a few like me with Cassan heritage, though.”

“Bassan,” his father said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Fingers pressed into his skin and Bassan flinched. Flashing his father a disappointed look, Bassan noted the angry glow in his eyes.

“I have to go,” he told Piten.

The man leaned back, his expression hardening. His gaze shifted to Bassan’s father and Piten’s lip curled into a sneer. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said.

“Don’t count on it,” Bassan’s father replied.

The grip on Bassan’s shoulder tightened as his father spun him around. Bassan bit his lip, afraid he’d crossed the line. He waited for his father to open the door, eager to escape into the hallway. His father held fast until they reached the closest telepod. The moment the door opened, Bassan darted inside. He kept his distance as they returned to their quarters, resentment building within him with every step.

Why can’t I speak with Piten tomorrow? This might be my only chance to learn about the Rogue.

Once in their quarters, his father took a seat in front of the computer. Bassan stood in the middle of the room, rubbing his shoulder. He wanted to say something but feared a reprimand from his father. Torn between indignation and obedience, Bassan remained glued to the spot. After a moment, his father glanced over his shoulder.

“You’re tired. Go get ready for bed,” his father said, his attention returning to the computer screen.

“Why can’t I talk with Piten tomorrow?” Bassan blurted.

“Because he’s a thief and a criminal.”

“But he’s a half-breed, just like me…”

“Bassan!” His father spun around in the chair. “You don’t need to associate with someone like that. Now, go get ready for bed.”

Clenching his fists, Bassan raced for the sleeping room. He caught the doorframe and hesitated. A vice gripped his heart and tears sprang to his eyes. Glancing back at his father, Bassan took a deep breath.

“At least Piten understands who I am,” he gasped.

His father turned to face him, but Bassan didn’t wait for a response. He ran into the bathroom and closed the door, shielding his mind tighter than he ever thought possible. Clinging to the sink, he stared at the reflection in the mirror. Even under the artificial light, his sun-kissed skin was apparent. Too dark for a Cassan and too light for a Tgren. He was a freak.

I’m tired of being so different, he thought.

Light flashed at a blinding speed as the roar filled his ears. Bassan fought to escape the onslaught, but he couldn’t outrun the images. Dropping to his knees, he covered his head. The light pulsated stronger, burning his skin. Unable to stand the pain any longer, Bassan cried out for help. A force grabbed his shoulders, shaking his body. Weary from fighting, Bassan curled into a tight ball.

Bassan!

The voice plunged through the roar. He wailed for help, desperate to escape the torment. The shaking increased even as the flashing lights began to dim.

Bassan, wake up!

Everything changed except the violent, forceful shaking. No longer on his knees, Bassan struggled to escape the restraint around his middle. Something grabbed his hands as they clawed to pull his body free.

You’re dreaming. Come on, wake up!

His eyes opened. After the brilliance of the flashing lights, everything appeared black. The restraints around his hands were warm and familiar. Gasping for air, Bassan ceased to struggle and held very still.

That’s better. Relax. I’m right here.

Recognizing the voice as his father’s, his hands pulled free and went to the restraint around his waist. The warmth of skin and a familiar hold greeted Bassan. Overwhelmed by misery and embarrassment, he cried out in despair.

Bassan, I’m here, his father thought.

The arm around his middle squeezed tighter and a cheek pressed against his own. Awake at last, Bassan’s eyes focused on the wall and the shadows cast by the light from the other room. His father’s touch provided a measure of comfort, but this time it was not enough. The terrors in his head were his alone to bear. All because he was one of the eleventh race. Realization of that fact further compounded his frustration. His father wouldn’t ever understand his plight.

A hand stroked his head. Easy now. It’s all right. You’re safe.

I’m not all right! he thought, pounding at the bed with his fist. I’m a freak.

You know that’s not true.

No one understands me, he thought, digging his nails into his palms. No one except Piten.

Bassan…

His father’s condescending tone shot straight into his heart. Between the agonizing dream and the realization that everyone despised his only supporter, Bassan couldn’t take any more. He pounded at the mattress, his tears flowing fast and hard. Somewhere in the distance, he heard his father call his name. Bassan ignored the voice and beat the bed harder. His fists struck something hard, but he continued to wail against the resistance, unconcerned if he hurt himself in the process.

“Bassan!”

Arms wrapped around his middle, pinning his arms to his sides. Bassan cried out in protest. The restraints only tightened further and he uttered one final gasp.

Bassan, please!

Unable to break free, Bassan curled into a ball. He sobbed, angry with the situation and his own weakness. His father contained his feelings with no problem. Why couldn’t he control the pain?

Bassan, it’s all right, his father thought. It will be all over soon, I promise.

Except that I’ll still be a freak, he thought, stifling his tears.

You are not a freak…

No! Bassan thought, wiggling to turn his body toward his father. I’m a Rogue. But you don’t want to admit that.

Bassan, the Rogue are…

Half-breeds, just like me! We’re different from everyone else.

His father sighed. Feeling defeated, Bassan curled into a tight ball, pressing his fists against his chest. He didn’t care about saving the ten races anymore. He wasn’t one of them anyway.

Bassan… His father’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close. I’ve never thought of you as anything other than my son.

But I’m different than the other boys, Bassan thought. And no one understands that like Piten.

He sensed resistance and grasped his father’s arms tighter. Father, please! I have to speak to Piten. If there are thousands of us, then I’m not alone.

Uncertainty surged through his father. Bassan clung to him, hoping his father would understand. He had to speak with Piten again. He had to know more about who he was, and only the Rogue pilot could supply that information.

All right, I will let you speak with Piten in the morning.

Bassan relaxed his muscles and sniffed.

Right now though, you need your rest, his father thought, fingers rubbing Bassan’s neck.

Yes, sir.

Exhausted from the exchange, Bassan closed his eyes. His father continued to massage his neck, easing the pressure in Bassan’s head. Despite the turmoil in his heart, sleep overtook him within minutes.

As promised, his father took him to see Piten the following morning. He could barely contain his excitement as they entered the Rogue’s quarters. Taking the chair closest to the bed, Bassan leaned forward, eager to hear about the eleventh race.

“Tell me more about the Rogues,” he said, pressing his knees together in excitement.

“Most are a mix of several races,” said Piten. His lips curled into a proud smile. “My children represent five different races.”

“Five?”

“My mate’s mother is half Arellen, half Narcon, and her father is half Arellen and half Charren. My son inherited several Arellen features, including the blue skin. Of course, my Vindicarn heritage means his blue tone is very dark. My daughter is much lighter.”

“Narcon and Arellen?” said Bassan’s father. “Odd mix.”

Piten’s eyes narrowed and he clasped his hands together. “That is why Rogues live in the most remote locations. Our mixed heritage means we are not accepted within society. We carve an existence where we can. Crumbling spaceports, abandoned facilities on remote planets and moons, refurbished transport ships. Anyplace we can gather without drawing attention to ourselves.”

“If you are so spread out,” said Bassan’s father, “how do you know there are ten thousand of you?”

“We keep in contact. If living conditions deteriorate in one place, we know the closest Rogue community and can move to that location.”

“Guess we have a name for the eleventh race now.”

Piten cocked his head. “Ah, but will the other races acknowledge our existence? That’s the real question.”

Bassan caught his father’s scowl out of the corner of his eye. He decided he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Do your children play with others?” said Bassan, asking his question before his father had a chance to speak again.

“They play with other Rogue children, yes.”

“No one picks on them if they look different?”

A bark of laugher escaped Piten. “They all look different!” He pressed his back against the wall and pulled one knee to his chest. “Do others make fun of your appearance, Bassan?”

Bassan’s cheeks grew warm and he shifted in his seat. “Sometimes.”

“Only a few,” his father said. “The Tgrens have been very accepting of the mixed race pairings.”

Bassan dropped his chin in embarrassment. His father’s position might ensure that he didn’t endure any teasing regarding his half-breed son. Bassan had not been so fortunate.

Piten cocked his head. “Ah, but are the Cassans just as accepting?”

“For the most part.”

Bassan raised his gaze. Piten stared at him as if waiting for Bassan to speak. When he didn’t, the Rogue’s knee dropped and he crossed his arms.

“It’s difficult for Rogues,” Piten said, still gazing at Bassan. “We don’t fit in with either of our parents’ races. My mother kept me hidden the first few years of my life. Cassans would’ve only seen the Vindicarn and vice-versa. Anytime I ventured out, I was looked upon with hatred.”

“Cassans and Tgrens have always been at peace though,” said Bassan’s father. “No one hates my son.”

Bassan glanced over his shoulder, but his father’s gaze was on Piten. Turning back to the Rogue, he thought he saw pity in the man’s eyes.

“Are you sure?” Piten said in a low voice.

His father’s boots tapped the floor. “Bassan, do you have anything else you want to ask before we go?”

Aware his visit with Piten was about to be cut short, Bassan flipped through the dozens of remaining questions in his head. There were so many Rogues. Why were they so spread out?

“How come you don’t all live together on one planet?” he said, his words coming out in a rush.

Piten’s shoulders sagged. “We’ve tried a few times. Even tried to buy an old spaceport. Our resources are just too limited. We don’t have the means to gather everyone in one location.”

“Haven’t been able to steal enough?” Bassan’s father said.

Scowling, Piten bolted upright and grasped the edge of the bed. “I’m not proud I’ve had to resort to theft to survive. I’m not afraid of an honest day’s work, but it’s difficult to find anyone willing to hire a Rogue. Our last job was cut short due to the alien ship’s appearance. We barely had enough to return home to our families, let alone feed them for the next month. That’s why we risked everything to land on Tgren. Now not only am I out a ship, but I have nothing for my mate. She probably thinks I am dead anyway.”

Bassan stared at Piten, his mouth open. The Rogue was angry, but desperation colored his words. Bassan’s stomach churned with anxiety at the thought of Piten’s family going hungry.

Behind him, the other chair moved. “Then you better hope everything goes well with the Vindicarn. Bassan, ready to go?” his father said.

He wanted to protest, but Bassan knew it was a command rather than a question. Rising slowly, he pushed his chair under the table. His father waited at the door and Bassan took a step in his direction. Pausing, he cast a sideways glance at Piten.

“I’m sorry,” Bassan said, unable to think of anything else to say.

The Rogue leaned his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, so am I.”

The door opened and Bassan trotted after his father. They walked to the nearest telepod in silence. Once inside the device, he glanced up at his father.

“Are we going to send him home?” he said, fearing the answer.

“It depends on what happens tomorrow night.”

“But I promised him…”

“Bassan!”

His father hesitated, his brows coming together. Bassan caught a moment of irritation before his father’s mind closed. Afraid to say more, Bassan’s chin dropped to his chest. A hand on his shoulder caused him to look up.

“If we aren’t successful tomorrow, no one will have a home anymore, including us. I know you want to help Piten. Let’s just get through the next two days, all right?”

“Yes sir.”

Patting his shoulder, Bassan’s father offered a smile. “We’ve been cooped up in those three rooms since we arrived. How about I show you some of the Litheron this afternoon?”

“All right,” Bassan replied. It was better than being stuck in their quarters.

His mind continued to dwell on the Rogue’s words. Thousands of people just like him, spread across the galaxy…

And not one of them would make fun of me, he thought.

“The Vindicarn are proving difficult,” said Commander Wraint, leaning over the computer display on the bridge. “No surprise there.”

“What’s the problem now?” inquired Byron.

Wraint straightened his back and rubbed his neck. “They continue to have reservations about Cassans setting foot on their planet.”

“We can’t download the code from here.”

“Fortunately they are aware of that fact, or they would’ve refused access to the alien ship outright.”

Byron’s fists tightened. He’d grown weary of the Vindicarn’s political games. If they didn’t permit them to download the code, then the probe could just wipe out the entire race and be done with it.

“We only require access to the alien ship’s control room for three people,” he said, fighting the urge to voice his true feelings on the matter. “And only one of us is a full-blooded Cassan.”

Commander Wraint cast a sideways glance his direction. “I’m not happy with that arrangement, either. I don’t trust that Rogue. Or the Vindicarn. You and your son will require protection.”

“If they’ll allow four, then a security officer can accompany us,” Byron offered, crossing his arms and leaning against the display table. “But no doubt they’ll take our weapons. That places four people in danger instead of three.”

Shaking his head, Wraint scowled at the display. His frown encompassed his entire head, wrinkling the skin under his short, cropped hair. “It seems like there are a thousand ways this could go wrong.”

Byron scoffed at the irony. “I’ve faced worse odds.”

“I know.” Standing straight, Wraint met Byron’s gaze. “I was there when you destroyed that disrupter ship during the Vindicarn War.”

“You served on the Sorenthia?” exclaimed Byron, his arms dropping to his sides. That’s how he knows me, he thought.

Wraint nodded. “I served in a different squadron, but I remember that moment like it was yesterday. What you did was incredibly brave. It could’ve ended much differently.”

Appreciative of the man’s words, Byron clasped him on the shoulder. “That’s what makes this situation unique. I had nothing to lose then. Now I’m even more determined to succeed because I have everything to lose.”

Before returning to his quarters, Byron decided to have a word with Piten. If he was going into that alien ship without an escort, he needed to be sure the Rogue would hold up his end of the bargain. If something went wrong, he wanted assurance the man would help Bassan escape.

He entered Piten’s quarters and found him stretched out on his bed, hands behind his back. The Rogue offered a smirk in greeting.

“Glad you’re able to relax,” Byron scoffed, annoyed by the man’s smug expression.

“What else would you have me do?” said Piten, rising to a sitting position. “I can’t leave, nothing to do, nothing to read. I’m certainly not going to sit here and eat the entire time. Not when I don’t know if my family has food.”

And whose fault is that? Byron kept the snide comeback to himself. He needed the Rogue on his side.

“The Vindicarn have consented to the three of us entering the alien ship,” he said, “and it required great effort to convince them that many are required. Once we reach the surface, you are to remain silent and do what I tell you, understood? If this mission is to succeed, we need the Vindicarn to believe a peaceful coexistence is possible through the eleventh race.”

Piten laughed and swung his legs to the floor. “I wonder if I shouldn’t convince you Cassans first?”

“We are willing to maintain our end of the peace treaty.”

“Is your race really prepared to live in peace?” Piten rose to his feet. “Are you, Byron? Because I see the hate in your eyes every time you mention the Vindicarn.”

Standing, the Rogue was even taller than Byron. He was thin, though. And hindered by the inexperience of youth. Neither the man’s size nor his accusing words intimidated Byron.

“I have my reasons for distrusting the Vindicarn,” he said, grinding the words out in a growl.

“I don’t trust any race that despises Rogues. Especially one that turned its back on my mother because her pairing with a Cassan produced me,” said Piten in a quick retort. “What’s your reason for hating them? It’s more than just the loathing of an enemy. Your hatred is personal.”

Resentment burned in Byron. This Rogue knew nothing of his life or the forces that drove him. Clenching his fists at his sides, he stepped closer.

“They killed my brother,” he said, staring hard at Piten. “But I will not allow them to harm my son. That is why I am here. I need your word that should it all fall apart tomorrow night, you’ll do everything in your power to protect my son. And if you can’t do that, then you damn well better tell me right now.”

Eyes narrowed, Piten’s mouth opened slightly as his lip pulled up in a sneer. He crossed his arms and took a step back. Anger pulsated through Byron’s body, but he didn’t move as he waited for a reply. The Rogue squared his shoulders and lifted his chin higher.

“I will protect your son.”

Those were the first words out of the Rogue’s mouth Byron believed. He relaxed his stance, the adrenaline thinning in his system. Offering a curt nod, he turned toward the door.

“Your son is a remarkable young man.”

Byron’s fingers hovered over the press plate. Snatching them away, he pivoted and faced the Rogue. The man’s smug grin had returned.

“He’s smart and very brave,” Piten said. “Reminds me of my own son, except Bassan is a little more calculating. You should be proud of him.”

Byron enjoyed hearing his son praised. He knew he placed high expectations on Bassan and wondered if that didn’t cause the boy to struggle at times.

“I’m proud of him,” he managed to say. “His namesake would be proud as well.”

Piten’s expression brightened and he pointed a finger at Byron. “Your brother. He’s named after your brother, isn’t he?”

The question dug deep at his heart. At a loss for words, Byron managed a brief nod in response. Reaching for the press plate, Byron slapped the surface and the door slid open. The security officers stood at attention as he exited, and Byron strode to the nearest telepod. The hum of the teleporter in his chest soothed his nerves.

You better protect my son, he thought. I’m not losing him to the Vindicarn as well.

Keeping his promise, he escorted Bassan down to the hangar first. His son glanced once at the Cosbolts, but the size of the room held his interest more. Byron let him gawk in wonder at the ceiling, amused by Bassan’s amazement. So many years had passed since Byron had set foot on a flagship. The delight bubbling from Bassan’s mind reminded him of that first day on the Sorenthia. He wasn’t sure if the memory made him feel younger or older, but it did wipe the conversation with the Rogue from his mind.

“Come on,” Byron said, leading Bassan out of the hangar. “I have something special to show you.”

He located the hydroponics bay and entered the facility with mixed feelings. Byron’s last experience resided deep in his past. Today would stir those memories, drawing the ache of loss to the surface. However, he wanted Bassan to see the place that had meant so much to Bassa. Experiencing it with his son would bring the connection full circle and attach a sense of joy to the place.

As long as we survive tomorrow, he thought.

A gasp from Bassan brought him back to the present. Grinning at the wide-eyed expression, Byron patted his shoulder.

“This is the hydroponics bay,” he said.

Steering his son through another set of doors, Byron guided him into the main gardens. The air hung thicker in this section, loaded with fresh oxygen and the fragrance of hundreds of flora varieties. He’d forgotten about the heavy scents and rubbed his nose.

“Look at all the plants!” said Bassan.

He scampered ahead and paused under a giant bush. Byron’s son stared up at the leaves as they waved under a faint artificial breeze. The purple fronds led down to a stalk so dark it appeared black at the point where it oozed into the ground.

“Those leaves are bigger than you,” said Byron as he joined him.

Reaching up with his fingers, Bassan strained to touch the lowest leaf. Byron suspected the plants weren’t to be touched. However, growing up on a desert planet his son had never seen such rich foliage. This might be his only opportunity.

Grasping the stalk, Byron bent it with care. The shiny leaf came within reach and Bassan clasped it between his hands.

“It feels like plastic,” he announced. Bassan glanced up, brows together. “We don’t have anything like this on Tgren.”

“No, the plants in this area are all from Cassa and Harenna.”

Bassan turned around and gazed at the dense foliage filling the room. The frond slowly slipped from his hands as he took a step forward. Releasing the stalk, Byron followed Bassan to the next marvel of the plant kingdom.

He hadn’t anticipated a biology lesson, but his son asked endless questions. To his relief, they moved at a casual pace through the gardens. Twice they passed others enjoying the scenery, but for the most part, it was just the two of them. Byron couldn’t recall the last time he’d shared an afternoon with his son. His duties kept him occupied and away from his family more than he cared to admit.

One way or another, that’s going to change, he thought.

They entered a section housing plants from other planets. The splash of color was more vivid than the Tgren sun setting across the desert floor. Bassan continued to ask about the strange foliage. Byron was surprised he remembered so much from his days of exploration. Those missions resided far in the past now.

They rounded a corner and Byron’s eyes fell on a familiar sight. Bassan darted past the secluded bench and Byron called him back. Grinning from ear to ear, his son dropped onto the bench and swung his legs. Byron took a seat and stretched an arm across the back.

“Enjoying yourself?” he said, well aware of the answer.

“Yes, sir!” Bassan said, his legs still swinging.

“You know,” said Byron, glancing around. “It’s been forty years since I set foot in a hydroponics bay.”

Head swiveling to stare at Byron, Bassan’s mouth dropped open. “That long ago?” he said, his lips struggling to form the words.

Byron offered a friendly sneer. “Yes, that long ago!”

Bassan laughed and Byron bopped the back of his head with his fingers. His son leaned out of reach, still giggling. Byron let him wind down, mulling over what he wanted to say next.

“I used to visit this facility in the company of someone else who meant a lot to me,” he said, the memories of his navigator coming into focus.

“Who?” said Bassan.

Leaning closer, Byron gazed at his son’s face. “Bassa enjoyed coming here. This was probably his favorite place on the ship.”

Bassan scanned their surroundings for a moment before his attention returned to Byron.

“He liked plants?”

“Bassa liked this section best,” said Byron, recalling his friend’s affinity for the foreign foliage. “He always wanted to go into exploration and see the worlds containing these plants for himself.”

Bassan’s smiled drooped. “But he didn’t get to, did he?”

“No,” said Byron, shaking his head. “We’d made plans to go into exploration when the war ended, but he died before that happened.”

Hands moving to his lap, Bassan kicked his legs one more time. His brow furrowed and he grew very still. Byron waited, curious. His son lifted his chin and gazed at Byron.

“Is that why you named me after him?”

Brushing the hair away from his son’s eyes, Byron smiled. “Yes. I wanted his memory to live on. He was…”

Byron faltered. How could he articulate what Bassa had meant to him? Only Athee knew the depths of Bassa’s influence. Could he convey that to his son? Would Bassan understand? Digging deep for his response, Byron closed his eyes and lowered his head.

“Bassa was the first person who ever believed in me,” he said, his mouth growing dry. “He sacrificed everything to become my navigator, including his life. He was my brother and closest friend.”

Opening his eyes, Byron discovered his son watching with great interest. Smiling to lessen the gravity of his words, he stroked Bassan’s hair.

“That is why no matter what happens tomorrow night, I promise you will be all right. I believe in you, and I will get you home to your mother.”

Bassan didn’t respond at first. Byron stroked his hair one more time, letting his love for his son flow freely from his mind. Suddenly, Bassan lunged forward and hugged him. Byron held him close, relieved he’d not lost his son to the new forces that pulled at their lives.

Breaking free, Bassan stuck out his chest and smiled with pride. “Then when I have a son, I’m naming him after you!”

His chest tightened. Byron had missed so much of Bassan’s life–years he wished he could regain. That his son still thought so much of his father amazed him. Byron didn’t deserve credit for the endless hours Athee had poured into their son’s upbringing. He didn’t even feel worthy enough to be called a father. At a loss for words, Byron hugged his son again.

When Bassan grew restless, he released him. Patting his shoulder, Byron offered an affectionate smile.

“I know you want to discover who you are,” he said, “but I already know.”

His son cocked his head. “Who am I?”

“You are my son. And you are destined for great things.”

Bassan ducked his head and leaned against Byron. The joy that poured from his son eclipsed all of the struggles of the past few weeks. Byron experienced a peace he’d not known in years.

Tomorrow night will be your moment to shine, he thought. And I will make damned sure you live to enjoy it.

The Vindicarn’s home world loomed large from the bridge. The red swirls bled into swaths of pale green, bordered by patches of blue. Their world was even more acrid and harsh than Tgren, with seasons of heavy rain offset by seasons of extreme drought. It was not an inviting world. Why the ancient race had chosen this forsaken planet was beyond Byron.

Suppressing his deep-seated hatred for the Vindicarn, Byron turned his attention to the communications screen. Beside him, Bassan shifted his feet. Raising his hand, Byron draped his arm around his son’s shoulders. The action wasn’t proper or in line with regulation, but reassuring his son rated higher than impressing the Vindicarn leader.

“Five warships now, sir,” an officer called.

Commander Wraint leaned against the display panel and shook his head. “They should be focused on evacuating their people, not us.”

Snapping to attention, Wraint gazed at the communications screen. The Vindicarn had yet to make official contact with the flagship. While Byron expected some resistance, the aggressive behavior of their longtime enemies bordered on excessive. The Litheron was expected, as was the code she carried. They were not here to attack. They had come to save the Vindicarn.

“Be ready to jump,” Commander Wraint said. “But safe of all the weapons. Let’s show them we are on a mission of peace.”

The communications screen came to life. Cherzta’s face filled the screen, his deep scowl adding to the wrinkles on his face. Thoughts of the Rogue flitted through Byron’s mind and he squelched the idea. Piten’s resemblance to this man resided only in their skin.

“Identify yourself,” said Cherzta, his tone threatening.

“I am Commander Wraint, of the Cassan flagship Litheron. We are here to transfer three personnel.”

“We only require the one possessing the code,” said Cherzta.

Byron’s chest tightened and it was all he could do not to respond. He refused to let his son go down to the surface without him.

“Cherzta, our request includes the father of the one possessing the code,” said Wraint, “and a liaison.”

The Vindicarn scowled and scanned the room. “I want to see those who require access to the alien ship.”

“The liaison isn’t present,” Wraint said. He gestured to Byron. “This is Commander Byron and his son, Bassan.”

Recognition flashed in Cherzta’s eyes. “Yes, you were present at the conference.”

Byron nodded, not ready to trust his voice yet. The man was difficult enough without further aggravating him with an insolent tone.

“Why is the liaison not present?”

“He is resting in his quarters,” said Commander Wraint.

Drawing closer to the screen, Cherzta’s forehead wrinkled even more. “If this is a trick, we won’t hesitate to open fire.”

“Sir, this is no trick,” said Wraint, raising his voice. “We want what you want. To stop the probe.”

Beside Byron, his son fidgeted. He squeezed Bassan’s shoulder and the boy pressed closer to his side. If Bassan was scared now, just wait until they were surrounded by Vindicarn.

Damn, I wish there was another way, thought Byron.

“The probe doesn’t arrive for three more hours,” said Cherzta, shifting gears. “We will send instructions for the transport of three passengers to the surface in due time.”

The screen went black. A collective sigh echoed through the room, which Byron seconded. Dealing with Cherzta was uncomfortable and downright aggravating.

“You should get some rest,” said Wraint.

Byron started to shake his head and then considered Bassan. He might not sleep after that exchange, but his son needed to be fresh for tonight.

“We’ll report back in two hours,” said Byron.

Bassan didn’t speak as they exited the bridge. Anxiety pulsated from his mind, each beat in sync with a rapid heartbeat. Byron kept his arm around his son’s shoulder until they entered the telepod.

Don’t be scared, he thought.

Small fingers touched his palm as Bassan slipped a hand into his. Byron gave his son’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Bassan, despite the order from High Command, I’ll not force you to do this. I want the decision to go down to the surface and enter the code to be yours, understand?

When there was no response, Byron glanced down at his son. Bassan stared at him, mouth open wide.

But if I don’t, everyone will die, thought Bassan. I don’t want that to happen to any of the races.

Said with conviction, Bassan’s words wrapped tight around Byron’s heart. And I’ll be with you. We’ll do it together, all right?

His son nodded and gripped Byron’s hand even harder. He returned Bassan’s grasp, the palm of his hand growing sweaty.

And I’ll die before letting anyone harm you, Byron thought.

Chapter Fifteen

They entered the hangar with Commander Wraint. The noise level had increased since their arrival and Byron glanced around the vast room. The hangar buzzed with activity as every Cosbolt team prepared their ship. With five Vindicarn warships outside however, Byron doubted the squadrons would be much help.

“Cherzta insisted no one else was to come to the surface with you,” said Wraint, his pace brisk. “I’ve placed a security officer in the co-pilot’s seat, but that’s the best I can do.”

“Once we’re on the surface, it won’t matter how many are with us. Besides, the fewer people involved, the fewer chances for mistakes,” said Byron.

They reached the shuttle, its hatch open and waiting. Byron paused and glanced at Bassan. His son looked up, his hair obscuring one eye. Brushing aside the lock, Byron patted him on the head and turned to Wraint.

Just be sure the two of you come back in one piece, the commander thought. I’m not losing a Cassan hero.

If there’s trouble, don’t worry about us. Jump the Litheron to a safe location.

Wraint’s eyes widened. And leave you behind?

If we can get back to the shuttle, I can jump us to safety.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Byron noticed Piten approaching, flanked by several security officers. Pressing his hand against Bassan’s back, he urged his son up the ramp. They were fastened in their harnesses by the time the Rogue took a seat opposite them.

“Hello Bassan, Byron,” Piten said, reaching for his harness.

Byron noticed one security officer remained in the main cabin. “He’s fine,” Byron said, gesturing the man away.

The officer closed the hatch and entered the cockpit. Byron pressed his head back against the seat and reached out for his mate.

Athee, we are preparing for departure.

We are ready on this end, she thought. Prefect Ubarce is in place. Mevine is in contact with the Arellens, who are coordinating with all the races.

Where are you?

Here at the alien ruins.

Good. I want to confirm our timing with Mevine.

Byron? she thought, her mental voice growing shaky. You take care of my baby. Please, I can’t lose either of you.

He closed his eyes against the anguish in her tone. Nothing will happen to Bassan. We’ll return in just a couple days. And I know you’ll be listening. Just please don’t say anything unless necessary. It’s going to take every ounce of my concentration to ensure everything goes as planned.

I won’t. Her reply was just above a whisper.

Athee…

She started to slip away from him. Byron held fast to their connection. If something went wrong, he didn’t want their final conversation to end in such a manner.

Athee, I love you. I’ve treasured our years together. You gave my life such meaning.

Byron! she thought with a gasp.

Aware that his choice of words had upset his mate, Byron changed his tactic. When we return, there will be some changes. I’m going to spend more time with you and Bassan. If I have to resign to do it, so be it. But I want to enjoy my family more often.
I’ve missed too much of Bassan’s life already.

He paused and waited. Byron sensed Athee was crying, but happiness flavored her tears rather than misery. At that moment, his mate’s bond bound them tighter than at any other time.

Athee, we’re taking off, he thought, the shudder of the ship lifting into the air running down his spine.

I love you! she thought. Please tell Bassan how much I love him.

I will.

She faded from his mind. Byron opened his eyes and glanced at Bassan. Your mother says she loves you.

His son managed a weak smile. The shuttle’s movement ceased and Bassan grasped his harness tighter. Byron patted his son’s knee. His gaze shifted to Piten, who stared at him with curious eyes.

“You were speaking to someone far off,” the Rogue observed.

“My mate,” said Byron, unwilling to reveal more of the conversation.

“Must be nice.”

The previous day’s conversation returned to Byron. “You can’t hear your mate?”

Piten shook his head. “She has too much Arellen in her. Bonding isn’t one of her abilities, so I can’t hear her at great distances.”

The ship began to move again. Byron glanced at the cockpit and confirmed their departure from the Litheron. The teleporter came to life as the pilot prepared to jump the shuttle.

“I told your father I think you’re one brave young man.”

Byron’s attention returned to Piten. The man leaned forward as far as the harness would allow, his elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. Sporting a fatherly smile, the Rogue gazed at Bassan.

“My son’s brave as well,” Piten said. “He’s a climber. Can’t keep him off anything. Are you a climber?”

The ship jumped, making a smooth transition. Bassan adjusted his grip on the harness and sat up straighter.

“Sometimes,” he said.

“Whenever I work on my fighter,” the Rogue said, his head tilted to one side, “my son joins me. Takes him less than a minute to climb up to the tail.”

“He gets to climb on your fighter?” said Bassan, coming to life.

“I doubt I could stop him. He likes to pretend he’s flying. When he’s through, he helps me with repairs. Think he’ll make an excellent mechanic someday.”

“You work on your own ship?” Byron inquired, joining the conversation.

“Yeah, that bucket of junk you shot down didn’t even fly when I bought it for almost nothing,” said Piten. Despite his words, his tone carried no malice. “About the only thing that did work were the weapons. And those went out a month ago. Just didn’t have the funds to refuel them.”

The ship banked to the right. Byron turned his attention to the view outside the cockpit. Blood red mountains of sand filled the view. Allowing Bassan and Piten to continue their conversation, he leaned forward and watched with interest. A Vindicarn ship dropped into position directly in front of the shuttle. Unable to see the landscape, his focus returned to the present company.

“Maybe your son and I can play together someday,” Bassan said, his tone wistful.

Piten shot Byron a wary glance. “I’m sure you’d have fun together.”

Bassan kicked out his feet in frustration. “Wish I could meet him.”

“I can show him to you. I can show you all of my family.”

The Rogue’s gaze continued to linger on Byron. It dawned on him the offer included him as well as Bassan. Byron had no desire to enter the man’s mind, but he needed Piten’s assistance on the surface.

“All right,” he said.

Focusing on his son’s thoughts in addition to Piten’s, Byron touched the man’s mind. Until that moment, he’d sensed nothing from the Rogue. Piten didn’t project his thoughts in a manner similar to most Cassans. That alone marked him as unusual. However, the images in his mind couldn’t have been any more normal.

Byron saw a boy younger than Bassan walking along the wing of a small fighter, and at once he recognized the ship he’d shot down over Tgren. The boy grasped the trailing edge of the wing and swung down, his feet dangling above the ground. Hands reached out to tickle the boy and he laughed so hard he lost his grip. The boy fell into his father’s arms, still giggling. The wrinkles on his skin were subtler than the Rogue’s, and the bluish tint of the Arellen race more dominant than the Vindicarn grey. His wavy hair was much lighter as well.

The view shifted and a small room appeared. One side contained the basics of a kitchen while a round table filled the other side. Set for four people, the table held two bowls of food and a tiny loaf of bread. A little girl came into view, her frame but a wisp of flesh and bones. She tossed her frizzy yellow hair and offered a beaming smile. Her skin tone was even paler. Outside of a tinge of blue, Piten’s daughter possessed flesh similar in color to the Cassans. She was so thin though…

Natural for Arellens, thought Piten. Although there have been times when my whole family looked as thin as my daughter.

Those words bothered Byron. Annoyed with himself for caring, he turned his attention to the room. A single window resided on one wall, allowing a small stream of artificial light to enter. However, the room wasn’t dark. It glowed with unusual warmth. That’s when Byron noticed the candles. Resting on small shelves, they lined the walls everywhere he looked.

My mate makes and sells them, Piten thought. Other races buy them because of their antiquarian appearance. Rogues buy them for a cheap light source.

A woman came into focus. Byron assumed it was Piten’s mate. Frizzy hair longer than his daughter’s adorned her face. Her pale, blue skin carried a hint of yellow, and it stretched smoothly across her high cheekbones. Reaching out her thin fingers, she grasped the Rogue’s hand, and he led her to the table.

With his mind open, Piten’s love for his mate flowed uninhibited. Stirred already by sympathy, Byron found the emotions too strong. He pulled out of the Rogue’s mind. Bassan withdrew as well, his thoughts curious but calm. The man gazed at Byron, waiting for a response.

“You have a nice family,” Byron said, grasping at the first thing that came to mind.

“Thanks. I’m damned lucky,” said Piten.

A jolt signified the shuttle had landed. Bassan caught his breath and pressed his body deeper into the seat. Byron patted his knee.

“We’ll be all right,” he said.

“That’s right,” Piten said in a cheery voice. “Get in, download the code, and get out. Simple as that.”

Bassan nodded, his fingers still grasping his harness.

Byron glanced at the cockpit. The alien ship dominated the scene, its exterior awash in a red hue. They were very close to the alien ship’s main entrance. He unfastened his harness first and then helped Bassan to his feet. Anxiety colored his son’s thoughts but not to the point of overwhelming panic. The Rogue had kept him distracted during their descent and alleviated Bassan’s fears.

Thank you, he thought privately to Piten.

“Thought it would help him relax,” the man said in low voice.

Byron glanced at Bassan, but his son hadn’t heard Piten’s response. You don’t use your telepathy often, do you?

Piten’s eyes narrowed with concentration. It’s not very strong, he thought. “Another gift from the Vindicarn.”

Cocking his head, Byron permitted a grin to tug at his lips. “That’s good to know.”

The comment elicited a scowl from the Rogue.

That means we have an advantage over the Vindicarn, Byron thought, clarifying himself. If something goes wrong, I can warn the Litheron faster than they can send a message.

“Ah…” said Piten. “Just hope none of them put a clamp over your mind first.”

“Sir?” said the security officer as he entered the main compartment. “The Vindicarn have signaled they’re ready for you.”

Byron placed his arm around Bassan’s shoulders and pointed him toward the hatch. The Rogue stepped into position on the other side of Bassan and cast a sideways glance at Byron.

Remember our deal, Byron thought in a private message to Piten. “Open the hatch.”

The security officer pressed the button and returned to the cockpit. With a pop, the seal broke and the hatch opened. A blast of hot air hit Byron, reeking of dust and sand. He squinted against the bright light that poured into the shuttle. Not even the deserts of Tgren could’ve prepared him for the harsh environment of the Vindicarn’s home world. Small wonder their skins were so wrinkled and charred. No other race could survive on this planet.

His vision adjusted to the intensity of the light. Byron noticed several Vindicarn soldiers waiting at the bottom of the ramp. Gripping Bassan tighter, he stepped forward. The Vindicarn watched their every move with black eyes full of contempt. Byron had been in tight situations before, but none compared to this. He and his son were walking into a potential deathtrap.

Once on the ramp, he became aware of men on either side, their weapons drawn. Grateful Bassan was in the middle, Byron hoped his son couldn’t see the armed Vindicarn. The fear pounding in Bassan’s chest already had Byron worried. They needed to maintain their wits.

As they reached the bottom of the ramp, the attention of the Vindicarn shifted to Piten. No longer in the shadows of the shuttle, his dark skin revealed his heritage. Byron heard murmurs, but the expressions of those waiting didn’t change.

“Halt,” one man said, his voice grating from the depths of his chest.

They stopped and Bassan pressed close to Byron.

“Search them for weapons.”

Forced to release his son, Byron resigned himself to a search.

Just relax, Byron thought, watching a Vindicarn pat down Bassan. I’m right here.

Satisfied, the Vindicarn held up a small communication device and announced they were on their way. He turned toward the alien ship and the other men stepped aside. Byron and Piten exchanged glances before following the soldier.

Close the hatch, Byron thought in a private message to the officer on the shuttle. No reason to tempt a bitter Vindicarn who might want to exact revenge.

Now that they were in the open, Byron viewed their surroundings. They were inside a massive hole. The loose sand pulled at his boots, slowing his pace. Ahead of them, the alien ship resided in the middle of the cavity. A large portion of it was still buried, but the top and a section of the side lay revealed. Once discovered, the Vindicarn had apparently dug it out in great haste. Even after a thousand years buried under the sand, the vessel’s surface still sparkled a brilliant blue in the sunlight. The outer hull of Tgren’s ship was hidden by rock, and Byron had expected the same drab grey as the probe.

I’ll have to let Mevine access this image when I return, Byron thought.

He glanced back at the shuttle and confirmed its hatch secured. Six Vindicarn vessels sat on the cleared swatch of sand, and several more rumbled overhead. Byron wondered if the extra security was due to Cherzta’s presence, or theirs. At least the Cassan shuttle was closest to the exit. If the code didn’t work or one leader failed to acknowledge the peace treaty, they had about thirty minutes to get clear of the planet.

Armed guards stood at attention as the Vindicarn entered the ship. Byron caught their hateful glares as they passed. He tightened his jaw muscles in an effort to conceal his own revulsion.

The soft blue lights of the alien corridor came as a relief after the glaring sun. Byron’s eyes struggled to adjust to the gentle glow. Relying on the sound of the Vindicarn’s boots striking the floor, he guided Bassan to the right. The man’s form loomed not far ahead of them.

Same layout as our alien ship, Byron thought to Bassan, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

On the other side of Bassan, the Rogue kept pace with them. Byron was surprised Piten had given no indication of interest or amazement since exiting the shuttle. If he lived on the fringes of civilization, the Rogue had probably seen as many wonders as Byron during his years of exploration. However, when they followed the Vindicarn into the main control room, Piten’s stoic expression melted.

Byron cast a quick glance at the plasma ball and its surroundings. They were similar to the Tgren’s ship. However, he was more interested in the group gathered around the main console. Several Vindicarn dotted the room, their weapons at the ready. He ignored them and followed their guide, his grip on Bassan strong. Maintaining a neutral expression, Byron approached the group.

The Vindicarn in the middle stepped forward and he at once recognized Cherzta. Attired in a dark red military suit adorned with numerous medals, the man’s lean frame towered even over Piten. His black eyes and dark scowl were more imposing in person. The air surrounding Cherzta suggested he knew no mercy. Byron clenched his teeth and shielded his mind. He had to maintain his cool.

The soldier who’d led them into the ship paused to confer with the Vindicarn leader. He stepped aside and gestured toward the Cassans.

“So you are the one with the code?” Cherzta said, his gaze on Bassan. The man’s words dripped with hatred and Byron felt his son’s arm around his back as Bassan pressed closer.

“Yes, sir,” his son said, his voice trembling as much as his body.

Cherzta approached, his hands behind his back. Byron held his ground even as those around the Vindicarn leader raised their weapons.

He needs that code. He won’t hurt you, Byron thought to Bassan. And I won’t let him.

Pausing in front of them, Cherzta scowled at Bassan before raising his gaze to Byron. A glint of recognition flashed in the man’s eyes, but Byron suspected it had nothing to do with their previous encounter.

“You would so bravely bring your son here, where no Cassan has ever dared to tread?” the Vindicarn said. “I wonder what would motivate a Cassan to make such a sacrifice?”

“We are here to save the remaining races,” said Byron.

“Including ours? I find that hard to believe coming from a Cassan.”

Fighting the conflicting thoughts in his head, Byron swallowed before answering. “We all signed the peace treaty.”

The man’s lips pulled back in an unnatural sneer. “And I still question the implication our races have anything in common. You might share traits with the backward Tgrens, but Cassans have nothing in common with the Vindicarn,” Cherzta stated.

“The races have more in common than you imagine.”

At the sound of Piten’s voice, Cherzta jerked his head. Byron shot a word of warning to the pilot but his thoughts couldn’t penetrate the pilot’s shields. The Rogue stepped forward from the shadows and stood beside Bassan. The Vindicarn recoiled, his face twisted with shock.

“A Vindicarn who would side with the Cassans?” he spat in disgust.

“I am half Vindicarn and half Cassan,” said Piten with no trace of apology, “and my allegiance lies with my own people.”

“Your people?”

“The Rogue. What some have now deemed the eleventh race.”

Cherzta bristled at that answer. Concerned, Byron glanced at Piten and willed the man to hold his tongue. The Rogue’s example was supposed improve relations, not agitate the Vindicarn further.

Trust me.

Byron held Bassan closer. Their lives and the future of the races now relied on one Rogue who might very well possess his own agenda. Never had Byron felt so out of control.

“A few half-breed monstrosities doesn’t mean the races are compatible,” Cherzta said, flicking his hand in dismissal.

“No,” said Piten, “but ten thousand multiracial Rogues is significant.”

The Vindicarn moved closer to Piten. “Ten thousand? That is impossible!”

The Rogue stood even taller, his arms taut at his sides. “We are there, on the fringes of your society, existing on neglected space stations and moon bases, taking up residence on planets no one wants. There are thousands of us, representing every race and every mixture imaginable. My own mate claims a heritage of Arellen and Narcon. I can show you if you don’t believe me.”

Cherzta took a step back. Two men with weapons moved closer, their guns aimed at Piten’s head. Byron pulled Bassan behind him. If tempers continued to flare, his son didn’t need to witness the Rogue’s death.

“You can continue this path of hatred,” said Piten, his tone somber. “You can deny the chance to save your world because it comes from a Cassan and his half-breed son. In doing so, you will condemn all races to die. And once the probe has reduced your numbers to a fraction of what they were before, then you will see us. You will see the thousands of Rogues who have lived at peace with one another for generations. Maybe then you will realize–all of you will realize–that coexistence is not only possible, but necessary for survival.”

Byron’s gaze shifted to Cherzta. He held his breath, waiting for the Vindicarn to respond. In the back of his mind, Athee lingered in fear. The probe was approaching and they were running out of time.

Piten shook his head and gestured toward Byron and Bassan. “This Cassan and his son risked everything to come here. They came to save your people. That is the ultimate gesture of peace.”

Still Cherzta didn’t respond. One of his men moved closer to whisper into his ear. He pointed at the large computer tablet in his hand, his movements frantic.

Byron! Athee’s voice rang in his head. Mevine says the probe has arrived. You must get Bassan into place now.

Pulling his son forward, Byron gripped his shoulders. “Let us upload the code,” he said. “Let us fulfill our end of the bargain.”

The weapons trained on Piten shifted to Byron. He kept his attention on Cherzta, hoping for a sign. If they’d come all this way for nothing…

“Please, sir,” said Bassan. His voice cracked and Byron felt his son’s frame shiver. “Please, I don’t want anyone to die.”

The Vindicarn stared at Bassan, his eyes cold. Uttering a growl of disgust, Cherzta gestured toward the main console.

Pushing Bassan from behind, Byron propelled them to the main computer. The crescent-shaped apparatus glowed with energy. Every light and display radiated power, including the metallic ball at the base. Byron grasped his son’s right hand and held it up.

The Vindicarn with the computer tablet appeared at his side. “You are to transmit the code as soon as the probe makes contact. I’ll give you the signal.”

Byron nodded. Interweaving his fingers with Bassan’s, he held his son’s hand tight. Wrapping his arm around Bassan’s middle, he pressed his cheek against his son’s and closed his eyes.

One last time, he thought, pouring every ounce of reassurance into Bassan. I’ll be right here with you. We’ll do it together, all right?

All right, Bassan thought. His fear subsided, replaced by determination. I won’t let you down.

Byron sighed and kissed his son’s cheek. You’ve never let me down. And I love you so much.

Relief and joy flooded his son’s thoughts. Byron’s chest tightened as Bassan reciprocated his affection with no inhibitions. All his son had ever wanted was to know his father approved of him. His complete surrender to what was about to occur tore at Byron’s heart. If it took Bassan’s life…

A noise from the console forced Byron to open his eyes. The display screen flashed data at an astounding rate, pulsating brighter by the second.

Byron, the probe is transmitting now! Athee thought.

Holding his son’s hand over the metallic ball, he held his breath. The images flashing across the screen came to an abrupt end.

“Now!” the Vindicarn shouted.

Together! Byron thought.

He pressed his son’s hand around the metallic receptacle. The images haunting Bassan for the past few weeks erupted from his mind. Locked with his son’s thoughts, Byron closed his eyes against the brilliance. The code raced through Bassan with a ferocious roar, drowning out all sound. Byron felt, rather than heard, his son’s excruciating cry of pain as it vibrated through his body. Squeezing his eyelids tighter, Byron pressed harder on Bassan’s hand. They had to maintain contact. Despite the agony, his son had to deliver the full code.

Almost done! Byron thought, fighting through the onslaught to reach his son.

As abruptly as it began, the stream of images ceased. Byron gasped and opened his eyes.

Mevine says the probe received the code! thought Athee.

Bassan’s body was limp against his, though. Byron touched his mind and sensed nothing.

Byron!

Athee’s terrified cry fueled his own fear. Releasing his son’s hand, Byron let Bassan’s body drop into his arms. Placing a hand on his chest, Byron felt for a heartbeat. It was there, although very faint. But his son’s mind registered no activity. And they were far from the mental healing power of the Tgrens.

No! thought Athee.

Rising with Bassan in his arms, Byron stumbled away from the console. He pushed past several Vindicarn, ignoring the shouts in his ears. Someone grabbed his arm and he tried to shake free. The person proved stronger and forced Byron to his knees. Pulling Bassan’s lifeless body closer, he cradled his son and uttered a sob.

“Byron!”

Looking up, he discovered the Rogue kneeling beside them. He touched Bassan’s head.

“He’s not gone,” Piten said. The Rogue met Byron’s gaze, his eyes intense. “I can reach him. Do you trust me?”

Byron stared at him a moment before the implication took hold. Piten could heal minds. He tightened his grip on Bassan and nodded.

Piten closed his eyes. Byron watched his son’s face, hoping for a sign. Athee’s wails pounded at his heart, repeatedly striking his chest with force. He’d promised her they would return. Byron had promised his son he’d be all right…

A spark ignited within Bassan’s head. The boy’s mind sprang to life and his body jolted from the effort. His son cried out and opened his eyes.

I’m right here, Byron thought.

Tears filled his son’s eyes and his hands clutched at Byron’s chest. Athee’s cry of joy rang loud in his head and Byron seconded her response. His son was alive. Closing his eyes, he held Bassan close.

I’m right here, he thought. And I’m so proud of you.

He cradled his son until Bassan’s sobs subsided. Byron opened his eyes and turned to Piten.

“Thank you,” he said. Words weren’t enough, but it was all Byron had in him at the moment.

The Rogue smiled. The gesture broadened his face, revealing Piten’s more Cassan features. At that moment, it didn’t matter his race. The man had saved Byron’s son.

His attention no longer focused solely on Bassan, Byron grew aware of their surroundings. Beyond Piten, Cherzta watched them. Byron stared at the Vindicarn with concern. The Rogue altered his position and gazed at Cherzta as well. The man was no longer scowling and appeared to be studying them. Byron adjusted his hold on Bassan, determined to protect his son if necessary.

Mumbling, Cherzta stepped up to the console. The other man held up his computer and the Vindicarn leader punched in a code. Cherzta held his hand over the metallic ball. He froze for a second, and then pressed his hand into place. Byron breathed a sigh of relief.

Five have connected, Athee thought, her mental voice still shaky.

Come on, thought Byron. We need all eight.

Six, she thought. Seven.

One more, thought Byron. Who was holding out?

Eight! No, wait.

Byron glanced at the Rogue. Piten cocked his head in puzzlement.

All ten! Athee thought in triumph. The Arellens and Torbeth participated even though it wasn’t required. Their leaders must’ve returned to the alien crafts by jumping a small ship into the hull. Byron, all ten races have sent their commitment of peace to the probe!

Byron uttered a soft bark of laughter. “All ten races sent the message,” he said to Piten.

The Rogue grinned and patted his shoulder. Byron eased his hold on Bassan and brushed the boy’s damp cheeks with his fingers.

You did it, he thought. It’s all over now. No more nightmares.

Did it stop the probe? thought Bassan.

The leaders just sent their response. We’ll know in a moment.

A loud pop echoed throughout the room. Byron looked up just as everything went black. Shouts came from several directions and Cherzta’s voice rose above the confusion, barking orders to his men. Byron held Bassan close and felt a hand on his shoulder.

A gentle whoosh preceded the appearance of a ring of blue lights, similar to those in the ship’s corridors, circling the room. It provided a soft ambient light that bathed the control room. Byron glanced to his left. Piten’s hand rested on his shoulder.

What is happening? he thought to Athee.

Mevine is working on it!

A startled cry caught Byron’s attention. Those around the console backed away as the entire unit came to life with pulsating lights. Images flashed on the screen at a pace faster than the images that had haunted Bassan for weeks. In an instant, the room flooded with lights as the ship roared to life.

Mevine says all systems are coming back online. He says the command module was wiped clean and is reprogramming itself, thought Athee. It worked!

“Sir!” said the Vindicarn holding the computer. He gestured for Cherzta to look at the screen.

“What’s happening?” said Piten.

“The command system is reprogramming,” said Byron. He tilted Bassan so his son could see the console. “Look! It worked.”

The flashing lights ceased and the screen went dark. Now what? he thought. There was a pause before Athee replied.

According to Mevine, the system’s now accepting new commands. It’s waiting for our input. What are we supposed to tell it?

New commands? Mevine had mentioned the possibility of reprogramming the probe. Byron could think of only one answer.

Protect us, he thought, growing excited. Athee, have Mevine pass that to the others. We can tell the probe to protect all of the races. All eleven races.

“Sir, according to the Jerril, it’s waiting for a command,” the man with the computer announced.

“Protect!”

All heads turned toward Byron. Cherzta’s brows came together.

“Command the probe to protect all the races,” Byron said, sitting up straighter. “You really want peace? That alien ship will ensure no more wars. And it will protect us from outside forces should something even worse come along. Maybe even the aliens who created it.”

The Vindicarn leader was clearly skeptical of the idea. He opened his mouth to speak, but the man with the computer held up his screen. Cherzta frowned, his fists tightening at his sides. They conversed for a moment, their voices hushed.

Byron held his breath. They’d warred with the Vindicarn for so many years. Would Cherzta and the others agree to such a proposition?

Cherzta glanced again at Byron before nodding to the man with the computer. With heavy steps, he returned to the console.

Byron, thought Athee, her mental voice gasping. The leaders have agreed.

He watched as Cherzta punched in a code and placed his hand on the metallic ball. Athee confirmed the transmission from all ten leaders and Byron’s shoulders sagged in relief. The Vindicarn might not want peace, but that probe now left them no other option.

Piten nudged Byron’s elbow. “Good call on that one.”

“Pity the first race that breaks that pact,” Byron said in a low voice.

His body ached from emotional exhaustion. Adjusting his grip on Bassan, he attempted to rise. The Rogue grabbed his arm and hauled Byron to his feet. Armed Vindicarn hovered nearby and he wondered how long it would be before they were permitted to leave. Despite Piten’s healing, his son still required medical attention.

Cherzta stepped away from the console and the man with the computer confirmed the command’s successful upload. The Vindicarn leader glanced around the room, his expression wary. His soldiers waited, staring at one another in confusion. Those men had no idea of the full implication of what had just occurred.

Won’t they be surprised, Byron thought.

His gaze falling to the three outsiders, Cherzta approached them. Byron stiffened as the man halted in front of him, his scowl present once more.

“I know who you are,” Cherzta said, his black eyes cold as he stared at Byron. “You’re the pilot who destroyed our only disrupter vessel forty years ago. You killed thousands of my people that day.”

Byron’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t realized Cherzta would have access to such information. That single act of destruction had ended the war, but at a high price for the man’s race. If the Vindicarn wanted revenge, he now possessed the perfect opportunity. Byron could not have walked into a bigger trap.

In his arms, Bassan shifted his position. A hand grasped Byron’s neck and he held his son tighter.

“Father, I want to go home,” said Bassan, his voice raspy.

Cherzta glanced at Byron’s son. His eyes narrowed to mere slits.

“And yet you risked your life and that of your son’s to save us,” the Vindicarn stated, his voice just above a whisper.

Afraid to speak, lest he endanger Bassan’s life as well, Byron held his tongue. Piten didn’t speak either. The Rogue’s hand rested on the back of Byron’s shoulder, the thin fingers pressing hard against his skin. Blocking his fear from Athee, Byron waited, prepared for the worst.

Pivoting on his heels, Cherzta flicked a hand in Byron’s direction. “Take them back to their ship.”

Concerned the Vindicarn would change his mind, Byron spun toward the exit. The man who’d led them into the alien ship guided the two men out of the main control room. Byron avoided making eye contact with any of the guards and focused on his steps, eager to be away.

We’re going home now, he thought to Bassan.

With his son in his arms, Byron found the loose sand a challenge. Piten grabbed his arm and steadied Byron as the trudged toward the shuttle. The hatch opened and he hustled inside.

“Sir!” said the security officer, holding out his hands to help.

“Just close that hatch and get us back to the Litheron,” Byron ordered.

He slid Bassan into a seat and the boy’s limp body drooped to one side. Piten held his son upright while Byron fastened the harness. Easing Bassan to one side, Byron managed to prop him up long enough to secure his own harness. The Rogue took the seat beside his son, pulling at the seat’s straps in haste. The engines roared to life and both men pressed a hand against Bassan’s body as the shuttle lifted into the air.

His heart still pounding from the hasty departure, Byron grasped his son’s neck and tilted his head back. Bassan’s eyes were closed but his mind continued to function.

“He’s just exhausted,” said Piten.

Byron pulled Bassan closer so that the boy’s head rested against his shoulder. The ship’s engines roared, signifying a rapid ascent. Deep in his chest, the teleporter began to hum. The sensation soothed his nerves and he sighed. Byron met Piten’s gaze.

“Thank you for bringing him back,” he said.

“You instructed me to protect your son,” said the Rogue. “But I would’ve done it regardless. I owed him that.”

A flash of sunlight filled the cabin, illuminating the man’s face. The regret in Piten’s eyes as he stared at Bassan, coupled with the man’s tender expression, reminded Byron the Rogue possessed a family as well. One he’d not seen or spoken to in many weeks. Piten had fulfilled his end of the bargain and then some. The Rogue deserved compensation for his efforts.

The teleporter kicked into action and the light vanished. Byron turned toward the cockpit as the maw of the hangar came into view. They would be safe within the Litheron in moments. Making a decision, Byron turned to Piten.

“Where is your home?” he said.

“My home?” the Rogue said, eyebrows rising. Piten eyed him with suspicion, his jaw moving as contemplated his answer. “Spaceport Arden Five. It resides in Charren territory, near the Narcon border.”

“I’m going to ask Commander Wraint if you can contact your family tonight. They should be able to get a signal through before we jump from Vindicarn space.”

Piten’s mouth fell open. Byron couldn’t help but smile at the man’s stunned expression.

“You’re serious?” the Rogue said.

“It’s the least I can do.”

Leaning back in his seat, Piten grinned from ear to ear. For the first time, Byron sensed emotion in the man. His genuine joy filled the cabin, infecting Byron as well.

The Rogue had saved his son. He’d saved all of them.

“Thank you,” Piten said.

The shuttle trembled as it touched down in the hangar. Glancing at his son, Byron stroked the side of Bassan’s face. They’d made it.

You do have a heart, thought Athee.

Byron smiled. Trust his mate to hear everything. Just don’t tell anyone.

Chapter Sixteen

“Hey sleepy, wake up,” said Byron.

Nestled in their bed, Bassan showed no sign of movement. He stroked his son’s head again, smoothing the wild locks. This time Bassan roused. He yawned and stretched his arms before rubbing his eyes with his fists. Byron smiled as his son blinked in confusion.

“Time to wake up,” he said, cupping his son’s face with his hand. “I think you’ve slept long enough.”

Bassan stared at him a moment before his eyes grew wide. “Where am I?”

“Relax,” said Byron. “You’re in our quarters. You’ve been asleep a long time.”

Panic crossed Bassan’s face and he struggled to sit upright. “The code!” he said, grasping at Byron’s arms. “Did it stop the probe?”

Byron laughed. “Yes, you downloaded the code, the leaders all declared peace, and the probe was stopped.”

Mouth open in surprise, Bassan leaned back against his pillow. Byron had wondered if his son would remember the events of the previous night. Considering he’d almost lost Bassan, he was grateful his son’s recollection of their time on the Vindicarn’s planet waned. Byron never wanted to experience a night like that again.

“The probe isn’t going to destroy Tgren?” Bassan said, doubt in his eyes.

“No,” Byron grasping, grasping his shoulder. “In fact, we reprogrammed it to protect all of the races.”

His son’s eyebrows rose and he sat up straighter. “Even the Rogue?”

Without hesitation, Byron nodded. “The Rogue are a mixture of all races, so I imagine the probe will protect them as well.”

Bassan rubbed his eyes again. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Since we boarded the shuttle to return to the Litheron last night,” said Byron. “I let you sleep through the morning meal, but that was several hours ago. Thought it was time you woke up and got some food in you.”

“I guess I am hungry.”

Byron patted his head. “Then let’s get something to eat,” he said.

Bassan smiled, his eyes still heavy from sleep. It was the first full night’s rest Byron’s son had enjoyed in weeks. Bassan had even slept through the medical examination last night. As exhausted as his son, Byron had also slept well into the morning hours.

Before they left their quarters, Byron knelt in front of Bassan. His son appeared confused and stared at him with wary eyes. Byron grabbed his shoulders and gave them a firm squeeze.

“I want you to know,” he began, hoping he could convince Bassan of his sincerity. Byron stroked his son’s head in an attempt to alleviate his son’s anxiety.

“I want you to know that I am very proud of you.”

Bassan’s mood changed at once. Joy radiated from his mind and his delightful smile returned. Pulling Bassan closer, Byron felt the boy’s arms wrap around his neck. Byron sighed, grateful he hadn’t lost him.

His son pulled away, his small hands still holding Byron’s shoulders.

“Would Bassa be proud of me?” said Bassan, a ripple of concern disrupting his joy.

“Yes,” Byron answered without hesitation. He could see his former navigator, the man’s eyes bright. “Bassa would be proud of us both.”

His son’s eager grin returned. Byron patted his head and rose to his feet.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he said.

Bassan bubbled with excitement as they entered the telepod. When the door opened on another section of quarters, he stared at the empty hall in confusion.

“What are we doing here?” he said, legs moving fast to keep up with Byron.

“It’s almost time for the midday meal,” said Byron, grinning in anticipation of his son’s reaction. “I thought you’d like some company.”

He paused at a door and touched the press plate. There was a moment’s hesitation and the door slid open. Byron entered and nodded at the occupant. He stepped aside and turned to his son.

“Piten!” Bassan said, his face beaming.

The Rogue rose from his chair at the computer and returned Bassan’s smile. “Good to see you up and about.”

They faced each other for a moment, as if unsure how to respond. Piten gestured to the computer.

“Sorry, I was checking on some friends of mine. Seems I’ve been missed.”

Bassan glanced at his father. Byron smiled and offered a nod of assurance. His son uttered a cry of joy and rushed toward the Rogue. He hugged the Rogue with such ferocity he nearly pushed Piten back into the wall.

“Hey there!” said Piten, returning Bassan’s embrace. “Good to see you as well.”

“I sensed you in my mind last night,” said Byron’s son. “I knew you’d help us!”

The Rogue pried Bassan free and held him at arm’s length. “I helped, but your father is the one who brought you back here safely. You wouldn’t be here if not for him.”

Byron opened his mouth to protest. Piten shot him a look that implied silence and turned Bassan to face Byron. Receiving a light shove from the Rogue, his son moved to his side and pressed against Byron’s body. Patting his son’s shoulder, Byron offered Piten an appreciative grin.

You deserve the honor, not me, the man thought.

Thank you. Byron cleared his throat. “We thought you’d like to join us for the midday meal.”

Piten presented a bow. “I’d be happy to join you.”

They entered the dining hall together, Bassan firmly planted between the two men. The hall contained only a handful of personnel, which suited Byron. Despite the message sent out to the crew regarding the Rogue’s actions during the trip to the Vindicarn’s planet, he worried the men might harbor grudges toward the half-breed. It would take time for old resentments to die where the Vindicarn were concerned.

Byron selected a table in the corner and away from curious onlookers. The food was fresh and the three of them dove into their meals. His son inhaled half of his plate within minutes, which pleased Byron. A healthy appetite was a good sign.

Reaching for his glass, Byron met Piten’s eyes. The Rogue pointed his fork at Byron.

“So is it true?” he said. “You’re the pilot who destroyed that Vindicarn disrupter ship all those years ago?”

Swallowing his drink, Byron leaned back in his chair. “It’s true.”

The Rogue offered a wicked grin. “My mother told me about it when I was a child. The Vindicarn version had the pilot dying in the explosion. But I guess the version my father told her was accurate; the pilot lived.”

“I singed the fighter, but I survived.”

Piten stabbed at his food, shaking his head. “My mother always said it was insane. No pilot in his right mind would jump into the central core chamber of a disrupter ship and blow it up from the inside.”

Byron glanced at Bassan, who continued to consume everything on his plate. Leaning forward so his son wouldn’t hear, he took a breath before offering an explanation.

“At the time, I didn’t have a lot to live for. I’d lost my brother and navigator a few days before that battle. I was the only one with a chance to escape the core room alive. So I volunteered for the assignment. I just did what I had to do.”

“I’m sorry,” said Piten. “How did you escape the explosion though?”

“I’m a jumper.”

The man shook his head, not understanding the term.

“That means when our teleporters drain of energy, I can still jump my ship by funneling my own mental power into the device.”

Eyes expanding, Piten grasped the edge of the table and leaned back in his seat. “I’d heard of pilots who could do that, but never met one,” he said.

“Well, you’ve met two,” Byron said, cocking his head. “My mate is also a jumper.”

That piece of information further astonished the Rogue. “Two races with that ability?”

Beside Byron, his son paused and looked at the men. Smiling at his son, Byron patted his head.

“Probably three races,” he said. “I’m sure Bassan will be a jumper as well.”

“Rogues do sport a variety of mental abilities.” Piten shoved aside his plate and propped his elbows on the table. “Thank you again for letting me contact my mate. She was so relieved. And furious with me for pulling such a stunt.”

“I can imagine.”

Piten’s brows came together. I’m sorry I took your son.

Byron sat up straighter, his eyes on the Rogue. Piten shifted in his seat, his head down.

I have no excuse. It was a cowardly thing to do. Thought I could make a run for it and no one would find me when your son appeared. I just panicked.

Piten met Byron’s gaze. I never would’ve hurt him though. Hope you can believe that.

Byron considered Piten’s words with care. Three days ago, he was prepared to kill the Rogue without a second thought. Piten’s appearance alone had stirred anger and hatred within Byron. Within that time though, not only had his opinion of the Rogue changed, but so had his attitude toward Piten. The man had fulfilled his promise and saved Bassan.

I believe you, he thought.

The Rogue nodded, a relieved smile tugging at his lips.

“Are you going home soon?” said Bassan, unaware of their mental exchange.

“I don’t know,” Piten replied.

Byron reached for his drink. “Might take a few ships to accomplish the task, but I can arrange transport to Spaceport Arden Five.”

Piten’s expression brightened. “I’d be forever grateful.”

Another possibility crossed Byron’s mind. “How are your mechanical skills?”

“Worked on just about every model of fighter and small transport ship in the galaxy.”

Byron rested one elbow on the back of his chair. “The Tgrens have made rapid advancements in flight. They are probably a year or so away from space flight. We help some, but our government doesn’t want to interfere too much.”

The Rogue cocked his head. Byron assumed a casual pose, his fingers tracing the edge of his glass.

“I’m sure the Tgrens would be grateful if someone helped move the process along a little faster,” he said.

“You mean,” said Piten, pausing to swallow, “if I stayed and worked for the Tgrens for a while?”

“No,” said Byron. He glanced at Bassan and winked. “If you returned with your family and worked for the Tgrens permanently. Perhaps bring a few of your friends qualified to work on spacecraft. Or rather, those poor excuses the Tgrens call ships.”

Piten’s face fell. Bassan gasped and grabbed Byron’s arm.

“He could bring his family?” Bassan cried. “They could live on Tgren?”

“I’d have to clear it with Prefect Ubarce first,” Byron cautioned, his gaze still on Piten. “But I think the Tgrens would jump at the opportunity.”

The Rogue dropped against the back of his chair, his mouth open. In a rare moment of indiscretion, Piten’s thoughts flowed from his mind. Byron caught a mixture of amazement and gratitude. The sharp edge of guilt surprised him though. He allowed the Rogue to compose himself.

“Byron, I don’t know what to say,” Piten stammered.

“Say yes.”

Falling forward, the Rogue pressed his elbows against the table and rubbed his brow. He looked up, his eyes darker than usual. I don’t deserve this.

We all get second chances, Piten. Just have to recognize them when they occur.

Piten offered a weak smile and glanced at Bassan. “You know, I’ve screwed up so many things in my life. It’s a miracle I’m not dead. Miracle my family isn’t dead.”

His gaze returned to Byron. Now filled with hope, Piten’s Cassan features shown through the dark skin and wrinkles. Byron reminded himself the man was neither Cassan nor Vindicarn. He was Rogue. One of the eleventh race. And whether Byron wanted to admit it or not, so was his son. They were the peace the ten seeded races sought.

“Yes,” said Piten. The man lifted his chin with pride. “I would be honored to work with the Tgrens.”

Beside Byron, his son slapped the table. “All right!”

“Now, I have to warn you,” said Byron, “the Tgren’s ships are primitive at best. I’m stunned any of them can get off the ground.”

Piten laughed, his cocky demeanor returning. “I can make anything fly.”

Byron grinned, pleased with the Rogue’s response. The Tgrens would be grateful for the man’s knowledge. Even more important, it would begin the integration process for the Rogue’s people.

Byron!

He held up his hand to forestall further conversation. What is it? he thought to his mate.

The alien ship is transmitting another message. Her tone implied excitement rather than concern.

Has Mevine translated it?

He doesn’t need to, thought Athee, uttering a cry of glee. Byron, it’s a direct message from the alien race that sent us here.

Byron bolted straight up in his seat. His movement startled the Rogue, who stared at him in wonder.

What do they say? thought Byron, feeding off his mate’s enthusiasm.

Hang on.

There was a pause. Piten opened his mouth to speak and Byron held up his hand. A message from the race that seeded them? After all this time?

We just confirmed the same message was played on Cassa and Charra, Athee thought. They are contacting the other races right now. Mevine says it repeats itself. He’s going to record it and send it to the Litheron.

Where are you?

I just reached the site. I’m waiting for Prefect Ubarce’s shuttle to arrive.

Tell Mevine I’m on my way to the bridge.

Shifting his thoughts, Byron reached out for Wraint’s mind. Commander, I hate to interrupt, but I just received word from Tgren. The alien ship is broadcasting a message from the aliens themselves.

What? thought Wraint, astonishment filling his mind.

My senior science officer is recording and sending the message to the Litheron. Permission to join you on the bridge to view it?

Granted! We’ll be on standby, waiting for the transmission.

“Come on,” said Byron as he leapt to his feet. “We have to get to the bridge.”

They left their plates and Byron led the way out of the dining hall. Byron located the nearest telepod and darted inside. Pushing Bassan along, Piten entered behind him, and Byron teleported them to the telepod outside the bridge.

Excitement pounded at his chest as he stepped into the hall. Slapping his hand against the panel, he waited with impatience as the door slid aside. Byron burst onto the bridge and scanned the room for the commander.

“Commander Byron!” Wraint called, gesturing them forward.

The three of them joined Wraint at the display panel. Byron grasped the surface’s edge and gazed with hope at the large screen in front of him. It was still dark.

“We haven’t received the transmission yet,” said Wraint. “You said it’s from the aliens who sent the races into space?”

“That’s what my mate claimed,” said Byron. “Both Cassa and Charra confirm the message is playing there as well. It’s probably being broadcast from all of the alien ships.”

“Any word from Cassa?” the commander called to one of his officers.

“No sir,” the man replied.

Wraint leaned against the display. “Then I’m glad you’re here. We’ll be the very first to hear it.”

Athee? Byron thought, anxious for the message to arrive. Has Mevine sent it yet?

Let me ask, she thought. Sorry, I think Mevine is coming apart with excitement.

Tell him to calm down and send the damn message!

Byron gripped the edge of the display screen. Something brushed against his side and he glanced down. Bassan pressed against him, his gaze on the main table display. Resigned to waiting, Byron draped an arm around his son’s shoulders. On the other side of Bassan, the Rogue stepped closer to the display table. His eyes grew wide as he viewed the detailed map of the stars.

That’s nothing compared to what we are about to see, thought Byron.

Prefect Ubarce has arrived and we’re entering the ship now, thought Athee. Mevine told me the message just finished and he’s uploading it now. If we hurry, we’ll catch the beginning of the next transmission.

It just keeps repeating?

Yes! I guess they want to be sure we all see it.

It’s a visual message?

Yes!

Byron leaned away from the table and shook his head. They were finally going to view the race that seeded the ten planets a thousand years ago. What would they look like? Mevine said the message needed no translation. The race spoke their language? All the various dialects of the ten races?

“Commander Wraint,” he said, gathering his thoughts. “We should be receiving the visual message soon.”

“Visual?”

“Yes, visual,” Byron said.

He glanced at Bassan and wondered if he should ask his son to leave. Can you handle this?

Bassan looked up, his face sporting a silly grin. Are you kidding? I bet none of the other children get to see it!

Byron chuckled and gave his son’s shoulder a squeeze.

Wraint leaned against the display and rubbed his chin. “This just might be more impressive than the message we received a few minutes ago.”

“What message?” said Byron.

“The Torbeth notified the leaders the storm covering their planet is growing weaker. They estimate it will subside within the next two days, at which time they’ll go in to rescue survivors.”

“Some of their people survived?”

“Not many, but far more than expected. Enough to repopulate the race,” said Wraint. “The Torbeth’s home world may take a few years to recover, though.”

Byron breathed a sigh of relief. None of the races would perish. Finding homes for the misplaced Torbeth and Arellens would be another matter. He hoped no one proposed they take up temporary residence on Tgren. He didn’t need that headache right now.

“Sir, receiving transmission from Tgren!” the officer called.

Athee, we just received the message, he thought.

And we just reached the control room, she thought with a gasp. It hasn’t begun replaying yet.

We’ll view it at the same time, he thought, turning his attention to the screen.

“Playing the message now, sir!”

The screen came to life. Byron held his breath and pulled Bassan closer.

The black faded, revealing a large room full of people. Byron’s muscles stiffened. Every one of the ten races was represented in the crowd. The grizzled features of those gathered indicated men and women in the later years of life. By rough estimation, Byron placed the number of those present around sixty. Every one of them stared back at him in silent accord.

Another race was present. They boasted features similar to several races and yet looked nothing like the others. Something about those people seemed strangely familiar to Byron…

A man in the front row stepped closer. His dark hair and sun-kissed complexion marked him as a Tgren. He glanced back at the others as if seeking their approval. Placing his hands behind his back, he smiled.

“If you are viewing this transmission,” he said, his accent a blur of Tgren and several other races, “then it means we were successful.”

Successful with what? Byron thought.

“When we set about this plan,” the man continued, “we had no idea if it would work or not. But we had to try.”

He paused, his chin dropping. Another man, his yellow skin marking him a Narcon, touched his shoulder. Nodding, the Tgren raised his head.

“What you are seeing is all that remains of the eleven races.”

Byron frowned. Were those strange people…?

“Rogue,” said Piten, his voice a faint whisper.

“We’d had our scuffles over the years,” said the man on the screen. “But forty years ago, it escalated into a war among the races the likes of which had never been seen. We took sides, killing any who opposed us.

“Desperate to gain the advantage, our government called upon the greatest minds to design a weapon that could not be stopped. One that would decimate an entire planet in a single shot. We created that weapon. We made the hull impenetrable and impervious to all attacks. We designed the weapon to refuel itself from within and carry enough energy to destroy a thousand planets. We did so thinking it would bring an end to the conflict. But that weapon turned out to be the ultimate vessel of death.”

“The probe,” Byron murmured.

“My people used it on the Cassans first,” the man said.

Byron caught his breath. The Tgrens were at war with the Cassans?

“We destroyed Cassa, making it inhospitable for generations to come. Our enemies retaliated and lodged a full-scale attack. In desperation, our government sent the weapon to destroy Vindi next.”

Byron shot Piten a wary glance. The man met his gaze with an equally stunned expression. The Cassans and Vindicarn had once been allies.

“Those of us who created the weapon were horrified, but there was nothing we could do. One by one, our enemy’s worlds were destroyed.

“And then the unthinkable happened. We turned on our allies. We wiped out the Narcon and Arellens before the Torbeth and Fesell even knew what was happening. Our remaining allies turned on us. This research facility was emptied and set to self-destruct, lest our enemies learn the secrets of the weapon. Before evacuations were completed though, the Fesell attacked. A handful of us inside the facility survived, but all of the ships trying to flee were destroyed.”

Byron gripped the edge of the display even tighter. The Tgrens killed off seven of the races? Eight counting the Rogue, who must’ve sided with the Cassans and Vindicarn.

“Desperate to stop the slaughter, we worked here in secret to disable the probe. By the time we gained control, my people had wiped out the other ten races.”

The mood on the bridge dropped with a resounding thud. Byron touched his mate’s mind. Athee’s viewing of the message was only seconds behind his own. Her horror surged as she digested the revelation her race was responsible for the destruction of the others.

“We made a decision,” said the man, straightening his jacket and standing taller. “A few survivors from the other races had arrived here, both friend and foe, and we welcomed them. Together we decided justice must prevail. We programmed the weapon to destroy our home world and all remaining ships.”

A collective gasp filled the room. Byron grasped at his chest in bewilderment. They annihilated their own people?

A shudder at his side distracted him, and Byron recalled his son’s presence. Pulling Bassan in front of him, he wrapped both arms around the boy. His son clung to his arms, his fingers pressing hard into Byron’s skin. Byron ignored the discomfort and stared at the display.

The man on the screen shook his head. “Then we sent out a beacon,” he said, “inviting any survivors to join us. Ships straggled in, bringing sets of two and three to our facility. What you see now is the remainder of those survivors. There were probably others, but they were beyond our reach.

“Aware that we had annihilated the races, we devised a plan to begin anew. Years of planning went into this venture. We reprogrammed the weapon, toning down its destructive powers and changing its directive. We carefully selected planets in a galaxy far from our own that would support each race. We harvested what we could from the remaining women and prepared the eggs. Only the Kintals declined inclusion, stating that since they were a blend of all ten races, their kind would appear again on its own. They did supply us with the ships that would carry the seeds of a new beginning, refitted for that purpose. At any rate, ten ships were all we could locate.”

“Those ships were built by the Rogue?” Piten gasped.

Byron scanned the faces of those gathered in the image. The Kintal were now obvious. They were indeed a blend, but one so complete it was impossible to identify the individual races.

“We designed several fail-safes,” the Tgren said, his voice strengthening. “We decided that while the other races should retain some knowledge and advance at an accelerated rate, our race should not. Our hope is that if the Tgrens do not advance as quickly, then the chances of us repeating our mistake will be far less. Of course, retarding the growth of our race carried risks. If the development did not proceed according to schedule, we decided to terminate rather than let our race continue crippled and incomplete.”

The development of the Tgren’s mental powers, thought Byron, the events of twenty years ago still fresh in his memory. The probe would’ve destroyed Tgren if not for Athee.

“Since the ships were a gift from the Kintals,” said the man, “a race who claimed no side in our war but experienced annihilation regardless, we engineered a special code that only they could access. They will represent peace. After all, their very existence depends upon it.”

That’s why Bassan received the code, Byron thought.

“And by unanimous decision, we decided if the races ever again engaged in war, the weapon would wreck havoc on their home worlds and scatter them to the wind. Our people destroyed everything because we could not come to terms. We do not want that for you. There is no future if you can’t coexist in peace.

“We know it won’t be easy.” The man smiled and glanced back at the others. Those closest to him responded in kind, and a wave of subtle laughter spread across the room.

“We haven’t always seen eye to eye,” he said, his gaze returning to the screen. “But we’ve somehow managed to work together for the past thirty-five years to make you a reality.

“And as I’m sure you’ve already discovered, the only way to control the weapon is through mutual agreement. No one race should control something that powerful.”

Bassan shifted in his arms. Byron pulled him closer.

“We hope you build a better world than we did,” the man said. He took a step back and joined the others. “We’re sorry we are too old to survive the trip to your new homes. That’s probably best. You don’t need us. The Kintals will help you rediscover your past and determine your future. They’ll remember how to access the information contained on the ten ships and guide you to peace.

“We know you’ll be all right.”

The man’s final words pierced Byron’s heart. Uttered by another man over forty years ago, it signified the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

The screen faded to black. The room fell into silence, everyone too stunned to speak. Byron stared at the blank screen, his mind fighting to absorb what he’d just witnessed. There wasn’t a master alien race, seeding planets as some kind of experiment. Those aliens were the eleven races, desperate for a second chance.

Byron… Athee thought, her mental voice but a whisper.

I know, he thought, shaking his head to clear his mind.

The eleventh race? she thought.

Mevine always said the alien language possessed elements of all the races. Now we know that’s because the ships were built by Rogue, who are a blend of all the races.

The Kintals.

Yes, the Kintals! Now we know their true name.

Uttering a bark of laughter, Byron turned to Piten. The man met his gaze with eyes of disbelief.

“I guess your people will be in demand now,” Byron said.

“Demand?” Piten stammered.

“Deciphering the alien code. Apparently, it’s your language.”

The Rogue’s stunned expression froze and he ran his hands through his hair, mouth agape. The man’s reaction amused Byron. At least his people had a place in society now.

Byron turned his attention to his son. Bassan continued to cling to his arms, his thoughts mired in stunned amazement. Byron spun his son around and knelt to face him.

Bassan? he thought, placing a hand alongside his son’s face.

Father, does that mean the Rogue aren’t an abomination? Bassan thought.

That means, thought Bassan, smiling at his son, you are the beginning of the Kintal race. And the key to our survival and understanding. You’re a special race.

So I’m special because I’m a Kintal?

Byron sighed and pulled Bassan to him.

You’ve always been special, he thought. You’re my son.

The End

About The Author

Alex J. Cavanaugh has a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and works in web design and graphics. He is experienced in technical editing and worked with an adult literacy program for several years. A fan of all things science fiction, his interests range from books and movies to music and games. Online he is known as Ninja Captain Alex and is founder of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group. His first two books, CassaStar and CassaFire, are Amazon Best Sellers. Currently the author lives in the Carolinas with his wife.

http://alexjcavanaugh.blogspot.com