by Claudia Gray
Amplifier droids hovered nearby, catching the proctor’s voice as he said, “The following is a list of all the school’s successful applicants to the various Imperial academies. For the Imperial Academy on Arkanis…”
Ciena could’ve groaned. They were going in alphabetical order by school? They might not know until the very end whether they’d made it in or not. She could imagine standing there at attention, minutes draining away, as the terrible realization of her failure sank in. Then she would have to slink out, humiliated. Failure wasn’t the same as dishonor, but it felt like it at the moment.
A few minutes into the ceremony—which already felt as though it had lasted forever—the proctor stood up straighter. “For the Royal Imperial Academy on Coruscant…”
No school in the entire galaxy was more prestigious. No other training came closer to ensuring a high-level career in the Imperial Starfleet.
Ciena had dreamed of going there, which was surely why she imagined the proctor’s speaking her name.
But no. He’d really said—“Thane Kyrell and Ciena Ree.” Both of them, together!
She remained at attention, but she glanced sideways at Thane. If he’d heard it, too, it was definitely for real. Sure enough, he was smiling—but a weary smile, like when he’d cleared the final barrier on an E&A course. Thane closed his eyes and whispered, seemingly to himself, “I’m out of here. I’m gone.”
Ciena knew why her friend wanted to leave this planet so badly. Those were reasons she didn’t share. She loved Jelucan’s stark beauty, the fellowship among the valley kindred—all of it was beautiful to her. Yet she could leave her homeworld without regret.
She wasn’t escaping from anything. She was chasing her dream of becoming an Imperial officer, flinging herself joyfully into space.
The day Thane left Jelucan felt…perfect. Like he could do no wrong, like all the constellations had finally aligned to guide him out. His parents said their good-byes at the house and didn’t bother taking him to the spaceport. It was a relief.
Boarding the vessel to Coruscant was even more satisfying because Ciena was there, too, though she remained on the boarding ramp hugging her parents so long that the captain threatened to leave her behind. Thane and she had become a team to get into the academy; it was only right that they should arrive there together. Best of all was the moment when the transport shuddered into hyperspace—their first experience of lightspeed—and the two of them grinned at each other in total delight.
Then they arrived on Coruscant, and it was like getting punched in the face.
Thane had always known Jelucan was a backwater world. Holos had told him the galaxy was far bigger and more sophisticated than anything he’d ever had the chance to see before. So he’d thought he was prepared. But when he stepped off the ship and saw Coruscant for the first time—
The buildings stood as high as Jelucan’s mountains. Although sunlight slipped through various glass structures, the overall effect was one of profound claustrophobia. The ground was impossibly far below, and the sky was cut into thin slivers. Hundreds of smaller aircraft zoomed or hovered between skyscrapers in a nonstop buzz of negotiation and commerce. Every single person seemed to have direction and purpose, to be perfectly at home in this huge metal cage, this city that had swallowed a world. Thane, however, tried not to look out the windows any longer because the view made him feel so small.
At first he thought Ciena would be even more overcome. Her childhood had been spent in the open valleys, in houses only slightly more sophisticated than tents. Surely this would be too much for her.
Instead, she was elated. “This is where everything happens,” she gushed as the two of them walked through the corridors of the spaceport, buoy droids floating ahead as beacons to guide them toward the academy shuttle. “It’s like—electricity, this incredible energy all around. Don’t you feel it?”
“Definitely,” Thane said. “Totally electric.”
Ciena gave him a look. “Hey. Are you all right?” But then they’d reached the shuttle, along with a handful of other new cadets, and they got caught up in the whirl of activity that was the first day of attendance: collecting data chips with the information they’d need, learning about tonight’s reception for all cadets, and introducing themselves to cadets from other worlds. Imperial officers, stiff and correct in dress uniforms, moved among them as the shuttle pulled away and joined the dizzyingly swift Coruscant air traffic. Thane had to keep himself from flinching every time another craft came within two wingtips—but in a planet-sized metropolis, apparently pilots were used to small margins of error.
The intensity only sharpened when they reached the academy itself. As the new cadets walked out of the shuttle, Thane realized hundreds of students were already there. Hundreds more seemed likely to pour out of the other shuttles coming up behind them. The entire time he was checking in, he couldn’t help feeling lost. When he glanced toward Ciena, she was smiling even more brightly. Before long they were separated from each other in the crush of people trying to figure out where they should be.
Thane’s data chip gave him the location of his dorm room and the information that he’d have two roommates. They couldn’t be worse than Dalven, he thought, determined to make the best of it.
Still, as he raised his hand to hit the door chime, Thane felt unbelievably small.
The door swooshed open to reveal a slim, black-haired guy with a narrow face and rigid bearing—so correct that it took Thane a moment to realize this was no administrator but one of his roommates.
“So you’re the one from, what’s it called, Jelucan?” When Thane nodded, the guy scoffed. “Why did you bother ringing the chime of your own room? It’s ridiculous.”
“Charming, isn’t he?” said another guy—the tallest of the three, stick thin and long faced, with long brown hair he’d knotted at the back of his head. His accent was aristocratic but his smile infectious. “Mr. Personality here is Ved Foslo, native to Coruscant—”
“Of course,” Ved cut in, lifting his chin. “My father, General Foslo, works in central intelligence.”
“—and, as you can see, he manages to work in a reference to his father within the first minute of meeting anybody.” As Ved scowled, the tall guy stepped closer to shake Thane’s hand. “Me, I’m Nash Windrider from Alderaan. And my father makes carpets. Impressed yet?”
“Very.” Thane realized he’d started to smile. “Mine does slightly dishonest accounting.”
“Always handy,” Nash said. “You never know when you’re going to need to cook the books. Come in and get comfortable—as comfortable as you can be on the lower bunk, that is. We grabbed the two best bunks already.”
Nash turned out to have traveled to more than a dozen worlds already and had visited Coruscant several times. He didn’t even ask Thane whether he’d been intimidated at first; he assumed as much and swore everybody felt that way the first time they landed on the planet.
“They should pass out inhalers at the spaceports,” Nash said as they hung out, sprawled on their beds to await the welcoming ceremony and dinner that night. “Or tranquilizers. Something to help people deal.”
“I don’t see what’s so strange about Coruscant.” Ved remained completely stiff but overall didn’t seem so bad. “Have you really never been to a real city before? Or any other Core World at all?”
Already Thane knew honesty would serve him best. “Nope.” He stretched out on the bunk beneath Ved’s, trying to get used to the hard mattress. “Never even been to a city bigger than Valentia back home, and I’m guessing the entire population of Valentia would fill about—seven levels of this one building.”
Nash rested his hands beneath his head. “You’ll get used to it, Thane. Soon we’ll all be Imperial officers and you’ll have traveled to a hundred worlds, and when you go home you’ll be as jaded as Mr. General’s Son here.”
Ved gave Nash a dirty look, but Thane couldn’t help laughing.
Ciena had trusted she’d li
ke her new roommates and enjoy the reception, but so far the afternoon was exceeding even her best expectations. She stood in front of the mirror, astonished to see herself in the cadet’s uniform. Black boots, dark trousers, dark jacket—it was like a vision out of a dream.
“I hate these boots,” said her roommate Kendy Idele, who scowled down at hers from where she stood nearby. “Then again, I hate shoes, period. When you grow up on a tropical world, you love barefoot best.”
“You’ll soon be accustomed to them,” promised their third roomie, Jude Edivon. She was as tall as Kendy was short, as pale as Kendy and Ciena were dark. “Bare feet might be great on Iloh, but on Coruscant? Your feet would quickly become dirty. Plus the likelihood of scrapes, small cuts, and potential infection would be high—not that hygiene levels aren’t good here, but the sheer size of the populace suggests—”
“Are you going to start quoting statistics again?” Kendy groaned.
“It’s okay to be a science geek,” Ciena said. “Quote as many statistics as you like, Jude. Kendy and I will get used to it eventually.”
Jude’s lightly freckled face lit up with a smile. “Our personalities seem to be compatible. I think you and I will get along very well.”
“We will, too,” Kendy promised. “Ignore my being grumpy. I’m just space-lagged and tired, and trying to get the hang of these damned braids.”
Ciena had been wearing her hair pinned back in tight braids for years, ever since she’d learned that this was mandatory for all long-haired cadets. “Here, let me.” Kendy’s dark green hair was straight and silky—totally unlike Ciena’s tight curls—but she figured a braid was a braid. “Did you really never practice fixing it?”
“Not even once. I thought it would be easy!” Kendy sighed. “Thanks for this, by the way.”
“No problem.”
Jude leaned closer. “You could simply cut your hair short, as I have. That provides optimal efficiency.”
Kendy made a face. “On Iloh, only little children wear their hair short. Growing it long means you’re really an adult. No way am I sawing it off now.”
“You’ll get the hang of the braids soon,” Ciena promised. “You’ll have to, because I’m not doing your hair every morning.”
“Even if I promised to make your bed before inspections?”
“No.”
Somehow they made it to the ceremony on time, with their uniforms perfect. More than eight thousand students were in Ciena’s class—a stunning number, to her—but a charge went through her at the sight of them all dressed in Imperial regalia, brought together by a common purpose, a common dream. Every single one of those cadets had traveled there, from hundreds of worlds, to make themselves the best officers they could possibly be. They’d come to serve the Empire, to make the entire galaxy better through their service. Her heart felt so full that Ciena put one hand to her chest.
Was Thane doing better by now? He had to be. Her eyes searched the crowd for him, but that was one of the disadvantages of wearing uniforms; it was harder to tell people apart.
She intended to locate him as soon as she could—then was taken aback by the academy president’s speech.
“You are not here merely to learn military tactics or to practice flying starfighters,” Commandant Deenlark said, every word crisp. “Those are important skills, to be sure. But we ask more of you. Our students are meant to become citizens of the Empire. To think of themselves as patriots and soldiers first. Can you stop thinking of yourself as a native of your home planet and begin thinking of yourself as an Imperial first? An Imperial only? Can you accept that protecting and serving the world you came from is best accomplished by strengthening the Empire to which it belongs?”
Ciena had never thought of belonging to the Empire as giving up Jelucan. To her, the two identities coexisted comfortably. But maybe some students here came from worlds with rebellious senators—places disloyal to the Emperor. They might need reassuring that they still could belong here at the academy.
Deenlark continued: “Some few of you have come here alongside friends from home, or have older siblings already in Imperial service. Your natural tendency will be to seek these people out at every opportunity and to rely on relationships you already have. But if that was all you meant to do—you might have well stayed at home, don’t you think?”
A few people laughed, obediently. Ciena felt stung. She and Thane weren’t supposed to spend time together? At all?
Well. “At all” was putting it too strongly, she decided. The instructors simply didn’t want them to rely on each other completely.
Yet that was what she and Thane had been doing for the past eight years of their lives.
After the ceremony and dinner ended, students milled around, introducing themselves to each other and—sometimes—not so subtly sizing up the competition. Ciena wanted to find Thane, though she told herself she shouldn’t.
Luckily, he found her.
“We both plan to serve the Empire for the rest of our lives,” Thane said as they sat down in chairs facing the glittering cityscape beyond. “We’re never going back to Jelucan—not to live, anyway. So we don’t have to worry about ‘living in the past’ or however Deenlark put it.”
Sometimes Thane could be very glib about authority figures—uninterested in rules—but Ciena thought he was more or less right about this. “It looks like we’ll share some classes and take some separately. So we can each make our own way here.”
“This place scared the hell out of me at first,” Thane confessed. “You lived farther out in the countryside than I did, but it didn’t faze you for a second. How did that happen?”
He was only joking, but Ciena answered him seriously. “I was ready for Coruscant because I’ve always dreamed of being here. You weren’t ready because—because I think mostly you dreamed of getting away from Jelucan.”
Thane remained silent for a moment, and Ciena wished she could snatch the words back. But then, finally, he nodded. “You’re right.”
“We shared the most important part of the dream, though,” Ciena said.
“More than that. We got each other here. It’s not coincidence that we both were admitted to the Royal Academy, you know? Flying together, studying together—we made each other so much better than we ever would’ve been on our own.”
Her throat tightened. “Yeah. We did.”
Thane smiled as he shook his head, perhaps in disbelief at how far they’d already come, or how far they still had to go. “Now it’s the academy’s turn to make us better.”
“To make us officers. It’s going to happen.”
“You’d better believe it.”
The window looking out on the Coruscant night reflected them slightly, superimposing their images over the buildings and hovercraft beyond. Ciena saw herself sitting next to Thane, both of them in the stiff, unfamiliar jackets and boots they’d been assigned today. Always they’d looked so different: Thane tall and pale, forever wearing the bright elegant clothing of a second-waver; Ciena dark and slim, in the simple homespun garments of the valleys. Now they wore the same uniform, and anyone could see that she and Thane were alike in the ways that mattered most.
They sat there side by side for a moment longer before getting to their feet. Thane smiled down and whispered, “You can do this, you know.”
“So can you,” Ciena said. They didn’t have to lean on each other. They were more than ready to fly.
Then they turned away from each other to walk into the crowd, meet new people, and become the citizens of the Empire they were always meant to be.
IF THE PREPARATORY track for the Imperial academies had been hard, the course load at the Royal Academy of Coruscant was brutal.
The first day’s easygoing friendliness had lasted exactly that long—one day, no more. Science, mathematics, piloting, physical training: every possible test challenged the students’ limits, every single time. Classes shrunk to about half their original size each year of the three-year progr
am. Few would graduate, and the competition to be among those few remained fierce. Forget sleeping in, cutting class, or even whispering to other students during a lecture; if you wanted to stay in the academy, to become an officer someday, you could never, ever slack off. You had to push yourself to the limit every single day.
Two months into his first year, Thane decided he’d never had so much fun in his life.
“You must—be—kidding me,” Nash panted as the two of them ran their ninth lap around the Sky Loop, a track on the academy’s roof, high above most of the bustle of Coruscant. A cool cloud had settled around the building, enveloping them in pale fog. “Getting up at dawn—doing homework until midnight—exercising until you vomit? Fun?”
Thane grinned as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “Hell, yeah.”
“If this is how they have fun on Jelucan—I think I’ll vacation somewhere else.” They crossed the finish line and slowed down, loping to a stop. After Nash had leaned over with his hands on his knees and taken a few deep breaths, he continued, “Someday you’ve got to come with me to Alderaan. Trust me, we can show you a better time than this.”
Nash didn’t get it. He couldn’t. As the two of them walked toward the locker room, Thane tried to find the words. “Most of my life, my parents fought me on everything I wanted to do—even getting ready for this place. I had to sneak around to practice flying with Ciena. Can you believe that?”
“Seriously?” Nash shook his head in disbelief. His gray T-shirt had gone dark with sweat. “But Ciena Ree’s one of the best pilots here. You could’ve gone to twenty different worlds and never found anyone better to fly with.”
Was it worth explaining the divide between the Jelucani valley kindred and second-wave settlers? Thane decided to skip it. That was the kind of homeworld thinking the academy instructors frowned upon. “The point is this is the first time in my life when I’ve been able to go after something I want without anybody getting in my way.”
