by Claudia Gray
A shiver of disbelief and anticipation swept through the cadets. Fifty points! That was better than acing two or even three exams. Cadets in ranking trouble knew this could pull them back from the brink. Meanwhile, Ciena could only think, This would do it. This would make me number one, far ahead of anybody else.
“Eager, are you?” the commander said. “Then get to your craft and await the signal!”
Ciena dashed for her speeder bike and powered up. As the engines hummed to life, she checked the chinstrap of her dark gray helmet and the armor strapped around her forearms, calves, and thighs. Most important was the repulsor belt, which would activate if she fell from the bike. But she didn’t intend to fall.
This is going to be mine, she told herself as she took hold of the handlebars and felt the controls through her textured gloves. The engine beneath her vibrated with what she imagined was excitement, as if it were a spirited beast instead of a mere machine.
The lights overhead shifted, turning slowly brighter. She held her breath. Then came the brilliant flash that meant go.
Ciena gunned it as they all flew out in a rush, like a swarm of Dardanellian locusts—but as soon as she was free from the building, she pulled back, tempering her speed so as few people as possible would see her flight path and realize her plan. While most of the other speeder bikes rushed toward the nearest hoop, Ciena turned and spun away, heading toward the farthest target at top speed.
She wasn’t completely alone, though. Maybe a half dozen other cadets had adopted this strategy—and of course one of them was Thane. As he leaned down over his handlebars, he caught her looking at him and grinned before swerving away.
Ciena laughed out loud. They were back to normal, and this was going to be fun.
The tricky thing about the course wasn’t handling the speeder bike, a light craft that responded well to its pilot’s movements. Instead the challenge came from choosing the best flight path. For adequate balance, speeder bikes needed to be within twenty meters of the ground, or at least a flat surface such as a larger craft, a machine—or a building. She slid over to the nearest mammoth structure and balanced her bike against its shiny surface, flying perpendicular to the ground at such speed that gravity no longer seemed to apply. Glowing windows rushed by “beneath” her with a ripple like sunlight on water.
Shift! Ciena put the speeder bike in a spiral, zooming upward and over the tunnel-laced chasm below—until she was within a few meters of another, taller building, which she used as her new balance. That let her fly higher, faster, the wind stinging her face. Thank goodness for the goggles, she thought—
—then cursed mentally as she saw another bike beside her, which of course was Thane’s.
He shouted at her, voice only barely audible over the rushing air and humming engines: “This is going to be tight!”
“Too tight for you!” she shouted, then laughed as she took the top edge of the building at a sharp angle. The first hoop glowed in front of her, brilliant yellow, levitating slightly above the roof. Ciena accelerated, aimed straight for the center of the hoop—and then gasped as her bike and Thane’s bumped.
He wouldn’t have meant to do that. Neither had she. They had each been so intensely focused on the goal that they’d forgotten to watch each other. The bump alone wasn’t a big deal—speeder bikes were built to take that kind of punishment and worse—but to her horror, Ciena realized the front directional vanes of their bikes were locked together.
“Pull!” Thane shouted, desperately jerking his bike to the right. She tried to yank left, but all they managed to do was wobble. Their speeder bikes couldn’t be separated in flight. They’d have to stop, land, and forfeit.
Ciena gasped as she realized how close they were to the Reitgen Hoop. Too close to swerve away—they were on the verge of a crash even the repulsor field couldn’t save them from.
Instinctively, she aimed for the very center of the hoop; next to her, Thane did the exact same thing, at the exact same moment. They whooshed through the hoop with less than half a meter on either side of them.
Her first thought was that they were lucky to be alive. But then she realized that, while locked directional vanes made steering difficult, balance and speed were unaffected.
If she’d gotten into this situation with any other cadet, Ciena would have powered down and forced the forfeit. With Thane, though—she knew what a good pilot he was, understood how he flew. Did they dare try it?
She shouted, “Let’s do this thing!”
“What, like this?” Thane put one hand near the power controls, but then paused as the idea sank in. Once again she saw him grin. “All right, here we go!”
Ciena plunged toward the next hoop, just as Thane did. They accelerated at the same time, simultaneously shifted direction and pitch. If they’d practiced this together, they couldn’t have done it any more efficiently. The two speeder bikes seemed to have become one.
The second hoop demanded that they slide through narrow passages between buildings that would’ve been a tight fit for one speeder bike, much less two. Together they tilted so that their bikes balanced against the left building (how had they both known it should be the left?), swooshing past one fellow cadet who had temporarily pulled ahead, and then dived toward the glowing yellow circle that marked their goal.
Together Ciena and Thane took the third hoop, down almost on the ground, wove through a web of walkway arches to the fourth hoop, dashed through the trenches of a spiral skyscraper to reach the fifth. Each goal seemed more impossible than the last, and yet the flying only became easier, because she and Thane had this.
She realized only two people who had spent years learning to fly together could ever coordinate so smoothly. The way she responded to Thane’s piloting—the way he responded to hers—it didn’t require thought. It was instinct, a part of them both. Those countless days soaring through the valleys of Jelucan had taught them to understand each other without words.
The bonds they’d formed during those years weren’t the kind that faded away.
When they dipped through the tenth hoop at the top of the academy itself, she and Thane immediately banked and accelerated straight down the wall of the building. Ciena glanced over her shoulder and saw the blinking lights of other cadets’ bikes swirling toward the bay like clouds of fireflies. They were close—but not close enough. Thane and Ciena plunged back into the docking bay first, a full forty seconds ahead of their closest competitor.
Landing the conjoined bikes turned out to be the toughest part. As they wobbled to the ground, other speeder bikes starting to swoosh in behind and beside them, they heard Ved Foslo shout, “That’s a disqualification!”
“It is not!” Ciena shot back, removing her helmet and pushing her goggles up on her forehead. “There weren’t any rules about what would happen if two bikes locked together!”
“Flying in that condition would have been more difficult, rather than easier,” pointed out Jude, still in her full flight gear. She had been even closer behind them than Ved. “Therefore it seems unfair to penalize them.”
Ved’s deep golden complexion was now flushed with anger. “We’re supposed to be learning how to properly fly a speeder bike. That’s not exactly correct procedure, is it?”
“Situations like that can happen in battle. Shouldn’t we know how to deal with them?” Ciena felt almost sick. She hadn’t broken a rule—or hadn’t meant to, at any rate—and here was Ved Foslo questioning her honor. Was he accusing her of doing this on purpose? Of cheating?
A small crowd had gathered by then, and the cadets parted to allow the instructor to walk closer. He said only, “That was—novel.”
Thane leaned against his bike as if he were completely at ease. “I just want to point out, you never said only one person could win. You said the fifty points went to ‘the first’ to finish. We finished first together.”
“Finding loopholes in instructions from superior officers? That’s a bad habit, Kyrell.” Slowly, the comma
nder shook his head as if in exasperation. “But far be it from me to penalize flying of that quality. You shared the challenge, so you’ll split the prize. Twenty-five points each to Ree and Kyrell.”
Ved Foslo threw his helmet down in disgust, but most of the cadets cheered. Thane took Ciena’s hand and held it high. She laughed from pure exhilaration.
First in the class. I made it all the way to the Royal Academy of Coruscant and I’m actually first in my class! Twenty-five points was enough for that. But Ciena caught herself then, realizing she was probably tied with Thane for the honor.
She found she didn’t mind sharing. Not with him.
Thane let their hands fall—but he didn’t let go right away.
Ciena didn’t let go, either.
NOTHING CHANGED UNTIL the laser cannon project a few months later.
Even the best battle plans put soldiers at risk, and at any time you could find yourself separated and in danger, your squadron pinned down or otherwise unable to help you. Your blaster could be damaged and, at any rate, couldn’t defend you from an enemy ship on its own. If you quickly constructed a larger weapon, however, you could continue the fight alone—perhaps long enough to be rescued but certainly long enough to make your enemy pay. A laser cannon could be built out of standard Imperial-issue parts, if you knew how.
Thane disliked mechanical work; flying and shooting were more his speed. But he was determined to ace this project. He and Ciena had held on to their top rankings so far; the only question remaining was which of them would finish the term at number one. If Ciena beat him, he’d be the first to congratulate her…but hopefully she’d be the first to congratulate him.
“Look at that grin,” said Nash, who lay under his own laser cannon in progress, a couple of meters over in the enormous repair bay. “Thinking about our off day? Ready to explore the Coruscant nightlife?”
From his place at the bench, Thane shrugged without looking away from the stormtrooper helmet he was currently cannibalizing for its power cell. “I’m working on my cannon, like you ought to be. Come on, Nash, focus.”
“How can I focus when we have a chance to go to clubs, cantinas, and a hundred other places where we’ll finally have a chance to meet girls?” Nash protested. “Girls who aren’t forbidden like our fellow cadets. Touchable girls. Kissable girls.”
“I understand, okay? But I’m trying to concentrate here so I can keep my ranking. Plenty of people have put in extra time on this.” Thane gestured to the rest of the repair bay for emphasis.
A couple dozen other laser cannons sat all around them, protected by the small sparkling hemispheres of low-charge force fields. Every single one of those machines might have been repaired more ingeniously than his own, with more inspired use of random spare parts that might be found in alien spaceports. Every single one of them counted as competition.
Nash slid away from his own repair table, the better to give Thane a withering look. “We’ve been working for a couple of hours now. We can’t talk about the one day of real fun we’ll get before the next term starts?”
“I guess.”
“You sounded excited enough the other day when Ved told us the best clubs to visit.”
“I was. I mean, I am. I’m excited, definitely.”
At this, Nash stood up and faced Thane across the array of spare parts spread across the worktable. “And yet you don’t seem excited—not about meeting girls, at least. That means one of two things. Either you’re interested in men instead—which I doubt, given your reaction to that risqué holo of Ved’s—”
The curse of fair skin was that even the faintest blush stood out. Thane tried to pretend he was still looking at the stormtrooper helmet.
“—or there’s a girl you’re already interested in. A girl you already know.” Nash leaned on the table, resting his chin on his hands, eyes wide open in mock innocence. “Could this girl’s name possibly rhyme with the syllables lie-henna see?”
“It’s not like that between us,” Thane insisted. “It never has been.”
Nash’s grin had turned wicked. “But I suspect it will be.”
The subject irritated Thane more than it should have. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the way his relationship with Ciena was changing, and he didn’t want Nash sticking his long nose into it. Besides, even if Nash meant well, his insinuating tone reminded Thane too much of the way Dalven had teased him about there being only one thing he could want from a girl of the valleys.
Talking about Ciena that way disrespected her. And made Thane think too much about things he couldn’t even begin to change until graduation.
“We take these matters more seriously on Jelucan than most people do,” he said, truthfully enough. “Speculating is…improper.”
“This, from the man who watched that holo five times!” Nash laughed out loud. “Besides, you’re supposed to stop being Jelucani and start being a citizen of the Empire, remember? And speculating is fun.”
“I need you to listen to me.” Thane put down his tools and looked Nash squarely in the face. “This subject is permanently closed. There’s nothing going on between me and Ciena. We’re just—”
“—good friends,” Ciena said as she walked away from the martial arts room, every muscle aching. “Always have been, always will be. That’s all there is to it.”
Jude nodded her approval, then winced; probably her head was still hurting from the last time Kendy had slammed her into the mat. “Very wise of you. Given the prohibition on dating fellow cadets, neither you nor Thane would want to compromise your careers by violating such an important rule.”
Kendy—beaming, sweaty, and triumphant—just laughed at them both. “I’d break the rules for a guy who looks that good.”
For a moment, Ciena felt a twinge of jealousy. That was not at all how she wanted to feel when it came to Thane—and yet it burned within her, an ember that refused to go dark.
But Kendy was already moving on. “So, what are we going to do with our free day?”
“Personally, I don’t care,” Ciena said, “as long as it involves eating real food.”
On Imperial ships, officers were encouraged to drink nutritive beverages instead of consuming food; it was more efficient in terms of both ship resources and officer time, and the medics insisted the nutritives were healthier, too. They didn’t taste bad—but they definitely didn’t taste good. The academy mess served the nutritives, and like most students, Ciena had dutifully started getting used to them. But as long as she could enjoy some real, true, delicious food without guilt, she intended to indulge.
“I believe we will be able to find acceptable meals at virtually any potential destination,” Jude said, then hesitated before making her suggestion. “Would anyone else be interested in visiting the Museum of Multispecies Sciences?”
Kendy groaned, but Ciena shot her a look. Their third roommate was soft-spoken, patient, and accommodating; she deserved to get her way once in a while. “Maybe we could go to the museum first thing in the morning. But in the afternoon, I’d rather do something less”—completely boring?—“cerebral. We study so hard here already, you know? I’d like to try something like, maybe, sea diving.”
“Diving. Yes.” Immediately, Kendy became excited. As a native of the tropical world of Iloh, she’d begun swimming even before she could walk. “I can’t believe it’s been six months since I’ve been in the water! And no, Jude, swimming laps in the wave pool doesn’t count.”
Jude didn’t respond to that as they stepped into the lift. Already she was deep in thought. “Diving would be a fascinating challenge. Bespin is a gas giant, which means we have no oceans or lakes. Swimming pools are rare luxuries. Therefore my experience in the water is limited. The chance to expand my skills and observe marine life would be extremely pleasant.”
As the lift settled onto their floor, Ciena had to shake her head and smile. “Everything’s a science project to you, Jude.”
“Science is the study of the entire mate
rial universe. Therefore everything is science—whether you see it or not.” Only the faintest smile on Jude’s thin lips revealed that she was teasing them back.
Ciena didn’t mention what they might do that night. Inside she hoped they’d be celebrating her finishing the term as number one in the class, but even saying that out loud sounded prideful. The only other possible candidate for number one was of course Thane—and if he won, she thought she could be happy for him.
Maybe celebrate with him, toasting his success. She’d rather he toasted hers instead, but…
“Ciena?” Kendy shot her a look as they walked toward their room. “Your brain was in orbit for a second there.”
“Sorry. I think my head’s still scrambled from that time you flipped me.” Ciena began untying the belt of her martial arts gear as the door swished open for them. “Think you could show me how that’s done?”
“No way,” Kendy said with a laugh. “It’s one of the only things I’m better at than you.”
Next morning came the inspection of the laser cannons.
Ciena stood at attention before her cannon, which she’d assembled to perfection. She’d made a point of using the most ungainly salvage parts possible so the instructors would see that she could build one under even the most unfavorable conditions. Her gut told her Thane might not push as hard to make his own task more difficult. If she could gain an edge anywhere, that was it.
Commander Harn walked along the rows of laser cannons, each one matched with a cadet at full attention. Although the repair bay was by its nature a place to work hard and get dirty, the gray rubberized floor and walls remained unstained by grease or scorch marks. Imperial discipline demanded perfect cleanliness, the erasure of every task as soon as it was done. Only Cadet Windrider’s cannon displayed any smudges whatsoever—as usual.
Harn nodded approval as Kendy’s cannon powered up. He opened her control panel, then nodded in satisfaction at her choices of new parts. He didn’t smile, though, not then or during the next several inspections—though he did murmur, “Innovative,” when he looked over Ved’s work. That made Ved smile so smugly that Ciena wanted to groan.
