Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Lost Stars

by Claudia Gray

  He didn’t actually mind being copilot/gunner; cadets had to be expert at flying in both positions if they wanted to get into the academy. But sitting backward in the cockpit was never quite as much fun.

  Technically, the V-171 was Dalven’s. When he’d left for the academy, he’d given strict instructions that nobody was to fly it while he was gone.

  Yeah, right.

  Thane never passed up an opportunity to fly—or to get a little revenge on his older brother.

  (Dalven was always ruder about Ciena than anyone else in the Kyrell family. Not long before Dalven had left for the academy, he’d sneered and said that there was only one reason to pick up some girl from the valleys—and if that was what Thane was after, he ought to get one who had breasts already. Thane had split Dalven’s lip before their parents pulled them apart.)

  “Hey,” Ciena said. Thane realized he was just standing on the ladder instead of climbing inside the cockpit. “Still with me?”

  “Yeah.” Thane slid into the ship while determinedly not looking at the front of Ciena’s flight suit. “Sorry. Let’s go.”

  They slid on their helmets, buckled their harnesses, and lowered the hatch to seal themselves in. By now the procedure was second nature, something Thane could do without conscious thought. He knew the moment Ciena would start flipping the switches to activate the motor, and even the rhythm of her fingertips as she did it. His own console lit up in response. “All systems check out.”

  “Confirmed we are ready for takeoff,” she said. “Full thrusters. Let’s grab some sky.”

  The old V-171 rose from the ground with a shudder, engines glowing blue on either side of them. Then they turned, banked, and soared away.

  Ciena took them up higher, toward the peaks too cold and hostile for anyone to settle. A handful of mining droids dotted the landscape, gleaming darkly against snow and pale stone, but otherwise the area remained untouched. Thane felt as though he and Ciena had the world to themselves.

  When they flew near one of the eastern ridge arches, Ciena’s voice crackled through his helmet’s speakers. “I see some icicles that need to be taught a lesson.”

  “Got it.”

  The arch came into focus on his viewscreen grid. Three icicles hung from the rock like stalactites, most of them about as thick as his arm. Big for an icicle—small for a target.

  Thane took aim, fired, and sent shattered ice spraying into the air. He grinned as he heard Ciena’s victory whoop.

  “Think you can find me a couple more targets?” he said. They never blasted indiscriminately, because a few falling rocks or icicles at this altitude could turn into an avalanche down at habitation levels. But he and Ciena had learned everyplace safe to shoot where ice could possibly hide.

  “Oh, yeah,” she replied. “Hang on.”

  Thane knew exactly how she’d loop the ship downward. Even without guessing their exact destination, he could sense just from the slightest shift of their wings which way she would move next. He and Ciena had flown as a team every chance they’d had for the past five years. By now they worked together like two hands of the same pilot.

  The V-171 dived into Stepson’s Gorge, a narrow, craggy pass that challenged ships at every turn. Ciena steered them down deep, no doubt intending to give Thane some practice targeting overhead. As they descended, they swooped past one of the many small waterfalls within the gorge. Despite the freezing chill, the falls still flowed, though more in a trickle than a gush. At that hour of the afternoon, the light caught the water at the perfect angle for a rainbow, and an icy outcropping nearby caught the prismatic light, reflecting it in a dozen directions at once. Every rock and line of snow seemed to glitter. It was one of those perfect moments all the more spectacular because in an instant it would be gone, never to be seen again.

  Thane heard Ciena whisper, “Look through my eyes.”

  He’d known she would say that.

  Maybe it was finally time to find out why.

  After flying practice, Ciena and Thane went to the Fortress.

  So they’d named it when they were eight years old and inclined to be dramatic. Really the space was nothing but a cave, albeit a cave they’d spent several years fixing up to their satisfaction. Every few weeks, one of them would show up with something else to add to their collection. Most of the nicer stuff (the proton-fuel heater, the holo-games) had been brought by Thane—castoffs from his family, luxuries they had tired of or would never miss. Ciena’s offerings were humbler, but she consoled herself by thinking they were more important. The Fortress would have been incredibly uncomfortable without the thick blankets and hide rugs she’d brought. Those, too, were castoffs, passed on by valley kindred trying to modernize their dwellings to Imperial standards. But they were warm and soft, the ideal lining for their nest hidden away from the world.

  Really the cave was located fewer than fifty meters from the Kyrell family’s hangar, but the mouth was tucked above one outcropping and overshadowed by another, making it so secret that Ciena sometimes thought she and Thane might be the first people in the history of Jelucan to walk inside. In short, it was the perfect hangout.

  Occasionally, each of them went there alone, but mostly they visited the Fortress together, talking about everything in the world and dreaming about their future among the stars.

  “My father said it was three dozen senators who walked out,” Ciena said.

  Thane shrugged. He was less interested in politics than Ciena was and continued lounging on the red rug, staring out at the sunset. “What difference does it make whether it was twenty or thirty-six? Out of hundreds of senators, that’s not that many either way.”

  “They refused to cast votes. They’re going to be replaced by Imperial appointment. That’s a big deal, Thane.”

  “It’s just some rich old politicians being self-important. That’s their idea of fun.”

  “How could they betray their oaths? Their honor?” Ciena still couldn’t fully believe it. “Everybody knows it was the Senate that steered the galaxy into civil war before the Emperor established order again. Why would anyone take the peace we have now for granted?”

  Thane shrugged. “Probably they’re really fighting about something else entirely and just saying it’s all about these high ideals. When they realize they don’t have any power anymore, they’ll come crawling back to the Emperor and forget all about the stuff they were arguing over before.”

  “You’re really cynical sometimes.”

  “I’m right, though. You’ll see.”

  Ciena sighed as she lay back on the black gundark hide, its thick fur as cozy as any bed. From this angle, the sunset blazed magnificently just beyond the far ridge of mountains. The light glowing into the cave turned Thane’s hair to true red and added warmth to his pale skin, and something about the way it fell made his face look startlingly older.

  He’ll be handsome, she thought. Strange though it was to realize that, Ciena felt she was only being objective. It wasn’t as if she and Thane were—as if they would ever—well, they wouldn’t. If her parents loathed her having a second-wave boy for a friend, how would they react if she ever fell in love with one? And while Thane had never explicitly told her about the way his father treated him, she’d seen the bruises and sensed in his silences the things he hadn’t said. Thane’s father would do worse than that if he ever thought the two of them were together.

  Besides, she and Thane…maybe they were too close to each other to fall in love. Sometimes she felt that they were two parts of the same person.

  “Hey,” Thane said quietly, carefully. “Can I ask you something that might be, uh, personal?”

  Had he guessed what she was thinking about? Ciena sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “You can ask. I don’t promise to answer.”

  “Fair enough.” He paused again before continuing. “Every once in a while, when we see something really amazing, you whisper, ‘Look through my eyes.’ Is that a valley thing? What does it mean?”


  It was personal, but Ciena found she didn’t mind Thane’s knowing. “Yes, it’s one of our customs. A rarer one, though. See—when I was born—I was a twin.”

  “A twin?” Thane sat up straight. Even a second-waver would be intrigued; most planets had myths and legends about twins. “For real? But I thought you were an only child.”

  “I am now. My sister, Wynnet, died only a few hours after we were born.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “No, it’s all right. It’s not as if I remember her or anything. But I live my life for both of us.” Ciena held up her arm to show off her leather bracelet. “Didn’t you ever notice that I never take this off?”

  “Well, yeah, but I thought you just liked it.”

  Ciena ran her fingertip along the braid. “I wear it as a symbol that I’m still tied to Wynnet. All my life, everything I do, everything I see—it’s as much of the world as she’ll ever have, because I share it with her. So when I see something especially beautiful—anything amazing, or sometimes even things that are especially bad—I say those words. My sister looks through my eyes, and I show her the most important moments of my life.”

  Thane leaned back on the rug. “That’s…really great. I mean it.”

  Ciena nodded. “Sometimes it feels like this huge responsibility, living for Wynnet, too, but mostly it reminds me to look for what’s truly special. Maybe I wouldn’t see so much of that if I weren’t looking for her.”

  The sun had finally dipped below the horizon. Although light still suffused the lower part of the sky, higher up the blue had become dark enough to reveal small twinkling points of light.

  Ciena whispered, “Someday, once we’ve made it to the academy—I’m going to show her the stars.”

  “Come on,” Thane said. He sat opposite her, cross-legged, deep within the Fortress. “You know this.”

  “Do I?”

  “This guy started a war.”

  Ciena’s head swam. They’d been reviewing galactic history for three hours now. “Okay. The criminal gang that interfered with a legal execution on Geonosis and sparked the Clone Wars was led by…by…” She shut her eyes, winced, and said, “Mace Windu?”

  Then she opened her eyes again to see Thane grinning at her. “See? You knew it all along.”

  Next to them, the CZ-1 droid clucked approvingly. “Your grasp of history is excellent, Miss Ree. In my opinion, you should be much more worried about calculus.”

  Her face fell. Thane glared at CZ-1. “I knew we should’ve installed the tact upgrade.”

  “What use is tact if it keeps you from learning?” CZ-1 shuffled closer, his ancient joints no longer easy to move. “When you first smuggled me into the ridgecrawler to bring me here for study sessions, you said I was to ensure that both of you passed the exams. I can’t do that by pretending you understand certain subjects when you don’t.”

  Ciena could’ve groaned in despair. These weren’t even the entrance exams for the academy. These would only allow her to qualify for the academy’s preparatory courses. “If these tests are kicking my butt, how can I ever pass the real ones?” She tried to make it a joke, but her voice cracked.

  Thane heard her. “Hey,” he said, leaning closer. “You’re smart enough. You’re strong enough. You can fly any single-pilot ship in the Imperial Starfleet, and I bet you could even handle a Star Destroyer on your own, if they gave you the chance.”

  She had to laugh. “I doubt it.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” His words became firmer, more forceful. “I don’t doubt you. So stop doubting yourself, okay? We can do this.”

  Ciena repeated the words to make herself believe them. “We can.”

  When they were fifteen—

  “Kyrell!” The E&A—Endurance and Agility—coach stood over Thane, who lay panting on the ground. “Get it in gear or get out for good!”

  Every month, in the preparatory track, they had to run a different obstacle course. Gradually, the courses became more difficult, even dangerous. If would-be cadets broke a limb or gained a scar, it was just proof that they weren’t fit to be there in the first place.

  Not finishing the course—it didn’t get you automatically expelled, but it put you really high on the list of kids who would be first to go.

  But his back and shoulders hurt so much….

  “Hey.” Ciena kneeled beside him. “Come on. Get up.”

  Thane shook his head. His muscles quivered with exhaustion. Beneath his loose black E&A gear, bruises and cuts burned with each movement he made. He’d had less than two hours’ sleep. Every muscle ached; his bones felt heavier than carbonite. “I can’t.”

  “Like hell you can’t.”

  He lifted his head from the rubbery red surface of the E&A room to see her kneeling over him. The first moment their eyes met, Thane realized he wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from her. “Last night—my dad—”

  Normally Oris Kyrell lectured his sons. Often he caned them, but only for a few strokes. However, the night before, his wrath had exploded as never before. Thane had not realized he needed to fight back until he was too injured to do so. His father’s punches and kicks had not stopped until Thane was on the floor bleeding. Neither of his parents had helped him up afterward, nor had they acknowledged his injuries in the morning. Apparently they were determined to pretend the incident had never happened.

  Bruised and aching, Thane had to bear the truth alone—at least until Ciena’s eyes widened in understanding. “You can still do it,” she whispered. “You got this far, right?”

  “I’ll try,” he said, between deep gulping breaths. “But you have to get back on the course. You’re losing time.”

  “I’m ranked number one in E&A, remember? I can afford to lose a few minutes. And I swear to you right now, Thane Kyrell, if I have to pick you up and carry you to the end of the course, I will.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think that counts.”

  More students ran past them, vaulting over the next high barrier, with only a few grunts and groans from those who had touched the sharp edges. These were the slowest kids, or close to it. Ciena would finish last, and Thane didn’t expect to finish at all.

  He rolled over to look her in the face so maybe she’d see how deeply he meant it. “Go.”

  Ciena only leaned closer. “Thane—don’t let your father win.”

  Hatred of his father did what hope couldn’t. Fueled by pure spite, Thane struggled to his knees, then to his feet. Though he staggered at first, he managed to catch himself.

  “Ready to run?” Ciena began bouncing on her heels, eager to get moving.

  “Yeah.” Thane took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  Somehow he hurled himself over the barrier. Although Thane made it to the end in last place—he made it.

  Afterward, in the privacy of the gear room, he sat on the bench, carefully stripped off his shirt, and let Ciena see the worst of it. The shame made his face burn. Even though he knew he wasn’t the one who ought to be ashamed…here he was, showing Ciena how he let himself get beaten until the skin of his back split open.

  If she pitied him or said she felt sorry for him, Thane thought he might have to walk out.

  But Ciena said nothing. Silently, she opened the first-aid kit and set to work applying curative skin sealant, closing each cut one at a time until Thane felt whole again.

  When they were sixteen—

  Only a handful of kids from the entire planet of Jelucan would make it into one of the Imperial academies. While Inner Rim worlds often fielded thousands of candidates, slots were still strictly limited for citizens of former Separatist worlds. The academy instructors themselves sorted students. At the same moment applicants found out whether they’d gotten in, they learned which school they’d been slotted into, which planet they’d be living on within two weeks’ time.

  Ciena didn’t care which academy it was. Any planet would do. Just as long as she got to be an Imperial cadet.

  On the m
orning results were to be announced, their entire class congregated in the school’s courtyard. Parents weren’t allowed on school grounds—only students and Imperial officials—but families lingered outside. Afterward there would be celebrations or consolations. For now, Ciena, Thane, and the other applicants only had each other.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she confessed to Thane as they stood together near the far left of the courtyard, staring at the door where the proctor would appear with the announcements. “At all.”

  “Me either.” Thane gave her a crooked smile. “That gave me time to think of a few backup plans for us.”

  Ciena held up her hands in protest. She’d refused even to consider alternate career paths because it felt like bad luck.

  Thane scoffed. “Come on, Ciena. We took the tests. The decision’s already been made! So we can’t jinx ourselves at this point.”

  It was true. More than that, from the tone of Thane’s voice, Ciena had figured out that these “plans” weren’t for real. “Okay, fine. Let me hear it.”

  “One. We become famous acrobats.”

  “…acrobats?”

  “Famous acrobats. There’s no glory in being mediocre, unknown acrobats. If we’re going to do this, we have to do it right.”

  The proctor would walk out any moment. The crowd’s buzzing grew louder, more tense. Ciena’s heart raced, but she tried to match Thane’s playful tone. “I’ll pass. Any other bright ideas for our future? You said that was only number one.”

  “Two. We travel the galaxy as drummer and exotic dancer.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me, but I’m not becoming an exotic dancer.”

  “Who said you were? I’ll do the dancing. You get the drum.”

  This time her laughter was genuine. “Only if I get to design your costume.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe I should move on to plan three—”

  Then Thane straightened, eyes widening, as the door opened and the proctor walked out. His black uniform seemed to steal the sunlight from the day. Ciena’s gut clenched, but like all the other students, she immediately stood at attention and remained perfectly silent.