by Claudia Gray
“Which is criminal,” Thane said. Nearby, a golden server droid used its five arms to vacuum the broken shards of a dropped glass. “You’re a phenomenal pilot, Ciena. You should always be in the sky.”
He’d forgotten how sly her smile could be. “I will be. Only in a bigger ship.”
By the time it was nearly dawn, they were confiding in each other completely again. Ciena showed him how she kept, in a small pouch, the leather bracelet that still bound her to her sister. “I always wondered,” he said quietly, looking at the soft worn braid. “It wasn’t regulation, and you’d never break regulation—but I knew you’d never get rid of it, either.”
“No.” Ciena’s fingers closed softly around the small pouch; its rough-woven fabric made Thane believe she might have fashioned it from a scrap of cloth taken from home. “Never.”
By then the sky had begun to turn pink. The rush of sky traffic had never ceased throughout the night, but the ships came thicker and faster. Ciena’s bare feet rested on the stone bench; her sparkly shoes lay empty on the terrace tiles. The server droids had given them final glasses of wine before settling into their night recharging stations, and as Thane drank the last swallow of his, he watched Ciena yawn. As late as it was—as exhausted as they both were—she still looked beautiful.
He wasn’t going to act on that now. Maybe he wasn’t going to act on it ever, given that they might be assigned to opposite sides of the galaxy within a couple of months. Besides, their reunion was too new to ask for anything more. Later, Thane decided. Later he’d think about Ciena and their futures. That night was enough on its own.
“We should go to the transport,” he said, getting to his feet. “Come on.”
Once Ciena had stepped back into her shoes, Thane offered her his arm. She took it as she rose to her feet. Weary as they were, he expected nothing but small talk about how much sleep they would, or wouldn’t, be able to get. Instead, Ciena said, very softly, “I’m so glad to have you back.”
Later, he reminded himself, more forcefully. “Me too.”
“TODAY MARKS NOT an ending but a beginning. Everything you have done during your three years at the academy—and in some ways, everything you have done throughout your life until this moment—was all for one single purpose: preparing you to become the best Imperial officers you can be. You have always been citizens of the Empire, but today you become a part of the Empire in ways no civilians can ever fully understand. The uniforms you now wear serve as a symbol of the Empire’s power, and your service makes that power ever greater.”
Ciena’s heart sang with pride as she stood there amid the ranks of cadets—no, new officers. She wore a command-track lieutenant’s uniform in gray and black, new insignia gleaming in bright squares just below her collarbone. Her new assignment had been given to her that morning, only moments before the ceremony began. The sun shone bright in the pale Coruscant sky, enormous red banners waved gently in the breeze, and she felt as if the future had been laid out before her like a velvet carpet, soft and plush, defining her path.
Several rows back, the elite flight graduates wore black TIE fighter pilot gear. Thane found that kind of ridiculous. The armor was heavy and hot, too; it was designed to be worn in the upper atmosphere or outer space, not on the surface on a sunny day. And the same helmet that felt so necessary—and so badass—while he was flying? On the ground, it looked ridiculous. Still, his irritation with the armor didn’t come close to his annoyance with the speaker’s address. He talks like the Empire just swallowed us whole. Plus, he keeps talking. Could he please shut up so I can go change into something else?
The best part of the ceremony, in his opinion, was the end, when he was able to find Ciena in the crowd. Once he’d pulled off his helmet, she threw her arms around him in a hug; Thane could hardly feel it, thanks to the chest plate, but he grinned anyway. “So where are you posted?”
“A Star Destroyer. The Devastator.”
“Whoa. That’s one of the top ships in the fleet.” Thane was pleased for her but not surprised. He’d never doubted that she’d go far.
Ciena’s eyes shone with delight—and hope. “And you? What’s your posting?”
“I’m assigned to the defense fleet for a space station.”
“Which one?”
“That’s the weird part—I don’t know. Apparently, this station is brand-new and still ‘classified.’”
“Exciting,” she said. “And I bet there’s a good chance the Devastator will visit this new station.”
“Yeah. Sounds like it.” Thane couldn’t help hoping. If they’d each been assigned to opposite sides of the Outer Rim, he would’ve had to accept that his path might not ever cross hers, at least in the line of duty. But she’d be on one of the most important ships in the fleet—and he’d already gathered that this new station was top-of-the-line, the kind of place important ships would be docked—which meant he might see her again before long. And when they were together again, not as playmates or cadets but as fellow officers and adults—then what?
Thane wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d like to find out. “Keep me posted, all right?”
“You’d better send messages and holos. All the time.” Ciena tried to make it sound as if she were teasing, but he could hear the real hope in her voice. “And maybe I’ll even get to see you back home.”
“Definitely.” Then, quickly, he bent and kissed her on the cheek. Ciena’s full lips parted slightly in surprise—and pleasure. Thane realized he should’ve done that a long time before. He wanted to say something to her, but the right words wouldn’t come. So he stuck to the basics: “Congratulations, Lieutenant Ree.”
“Congratulations to you, too, Lieutenant Kyrell.” She held up one hand as she turned to go but gave him a lingering look over her shoulder before she walked into the crowd.
Thane watched her go. Even amid a throng of hundreds of students wearing variations on the same uniform, Ciena remained separate and unmistakable to him. Only when she’d passed out of sight did he turn away.
Back home, he thought. Although he hoped to see Ciena before their next furlough, he liked the idea of being with her back on Jelucan. He’d planned to put off any postgraduate visit to his family as long as possible and hopefully forever; now, however, he found himself willing to return at least once. It would be different if he and Ciena took the journey together. Maybe they could even see the Fortress. Dust would have blown into their cave hideaway, but it wouldn’t take much effort to make it nice again. Or they could travel down to Valentia together, as they’d always promised to do but never had.…
Three weeks into her service aboard the Devastator, Ciena finally stopped feeling like a cadet impostor and started feeling like a true Imperial officer. The change came the first day she was finally thrown into action against the rebels.
They’re firing back? She could hardly believe it. A tiny blockade runner trying to take on a Star Destroyer. It was beyond impossible—it was insane.
Then again, weren’t all the rebels insane?
“Close in,” the bridge commander said. “Their power reserves must be nearly depleted by now. Let’s pull them into the docking bay and end this.”
Ciena activated the tractor beam, then looked up from the gleaming black console to witness the scene for herself. The small white form of the ship ahead was hardly more than a speck in the starscape, dwarfed by the desert planet beneath. Viewscreens provided far more detail, but there was something fulfilling about watching the rebel ship’s defeat with her own eyes.
Once she would’ve taken that defeat for granted. The rebels were a ragtag bunch of malcontents reduced to terrorist acts because they lacked either popular support or military might—or so they had all believed until recently, when the rebels had struck at them from a hidden base. To the undying shame of whatever complacent Imperial officials were responsible, the rebels had actually won the engagement. Not only did the Empire have to bear that incomprehensible defeat, but it also had lost vi
tal intelligence information. Although the specifics were not widely discussed, Ciena had gathered that the intel had to do with the plans for a new, secret Imperial space station.
That had to be the base Thane was assigned to. If these rebels had gotten away, would they have attacked that station, putting Thane’s life at risk?
Ciena’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the rebel ship and thought, You actually believed you could attack us and get away with it. You know better now, don’t you?
The blockade runner continued to broadcast its protests about being on a “diplomatic mission,” but Ciena ignored that, as did everyone else on the bridge. With satisfaction she saw the ship disappear from the windows, becoming only a green blip on her readouts.
An officer nearby said, “Lord Vader has given the order to board the Tantive IV, sir.”
The captain nodded. “Excellent. They’ll take the princess into custody in no time. Stand down on main laser cannons.”
Ciena nodded, swiftly inputting the commander’s orders. She had to disguise her shock at the thought of Princess Leia of Alderaan as a rebel, a terrorist and a traitor. But her father had long been a troublemaker in the Imperial Senate, mistaking his planet’s importance for his own. Too bad his daughter had inherited his arrogance.
Today, they’d shown her and every other rebel that they couldn’t go up against the Empire without paying the price.
One of the Tantive IV escape pods launched; readouts showed four life-forms attempting to escape to the desert planet below. The pod was shot down easily.
What could they have been thinking? Ciena wondered as she quickly routed the reports from the boarding parties. How could they ever expect to get away from a Star Destroyer when they were already trapped inside the docking bay?
I guess they were too scared to think straight. They deserve everything that’s coming to them, but I can’t blame them for being scared.…
Another escape pod launched, rousing her from her thoughts. The officer next to Ciena muttered, “There goes another one.”
The captain seemed bored. “Hold your fire. There’s no life-forms. They must’ve short-circuited.” Within moments, the escape pod was invisible against the yellow sands of the planet below.
Shortly afterward, Ciena manually delivered copies of the auxiliary bridge’s hard data files to the ISB internal affairs officer on board; the Imperial Security Bureau liked to monitor all interactions with suspected rebel targets to ensure no one betrayed any lack of loyalty to the Empire through word or deed. On her way, she ran into Nash Windrider at the doorway to the main bridge lift. He was one of the few alumni of her class assigned to the Devastator—and while they hadn’t been close there, due to that stupid rift between her and Thane, they knew each other well enough to count as friends now. Nash still wore his hair long, though tightly braided in the back per regulations. “Don’t tell me,” he stage-whispered to her as the lift doors slid open and they walked inside. “You’re running an errand to make sure you don’t get sent to that broiling lump of sand down there.”
“Tatooine,” she pretended to correct him. The lift began its swift ascent, the glass panels in its doors showing them layer after flickering layer of the vast Star Destroyer. “I take it that’s where you’re headed?”
“No, and thank goodness. Going down there in stormtrooper armor’s as good as being baked alive.”
The lift would reach the main bridge within a few moments, so Ciena took that chance to say something that needed to be said to Nash in private. Gently, she began, “I wanted to say, I’m sorry about your princess. You must feel so…betrayed.”
Nash’s grin faded. He drew himself up to his full lanky height and clasped his hands behind his back. “Princess Leia can only have been misled by her courtiers. I feel sure that a thorough investigation will clear her of any real wrongdoing.”
“Of course. I should have thought of that.” Ciena didn’t know if she believed such an easy explanation was plausible, but Nash knew more about the princess than she did. Maybe he was right.
The lift doors slid open, and Nash stepped out. “Until later,” he said, turning away from her to return to his duty station. Ciena wished she hadn’t said anything about the princess. It wasn’t Nash’s fault if one of his planet’s senators had turned out to be a traitor. She hoped the internal affairs officer would feel the same way.
Ciena had only been to the main bridge once before, on a brief orientation tour of the ship the day she’d arrived. So the sight still awed her: the impossibly long corridor, the enormous viewscreen, the countless monitors all whirring and blinking on the lower level as senior staffers worked furiously in the data pits. It was the heart of the Devastator, the soul of the machine.
Quickly, she turned her attention to Captain Ronnadam, who was sitting at his station in the unique white-jacketed uniform of the ISB. “Sir. The data packets, as requested.”
Ronnadam took the packets without even glancing back at her; his focus was only for whatever long lines of text were scrolling down his monitor. Ciena could not leave the main bridge without being dismissed, so she stood at attention, waiting.
“You’re being lax in your protocols, Ronnadam,” said a dry, crisp voice behind her. “Fortunately, the young lieutenant here follows procedure—and has better manners.”
Ciena lit up as she turned and recognized Grand Moff Tarkin himself—in the form of a hologram, flickering in gray-green light. He looked at Ciena with some interest. “You seem to know me, Lieutenant. But I doubt we’ve served together before. Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Ciena Ree, L-P-eight-eight-eight, graduate of the most recent class of the Royal Academy and native of Jelucan, sir.” Wait until I tell Thane I saw Tarkin again!
The Grand Moff nodded politely. “Jelucan. On the Outer Rim, yes? I was there for its annexation into the Empire.”
A response was not required—but it wasn’t forbidden, either, and Ciena couldn’t resist. “You were, sir. I met you that day, right after the ceremony, when I was just a little girl.”
Tarkin’s angular face studied her for a long moment, and then, to her astonishment, he said, “The two children sneaking around the shuttle grounds. Were you one of those?”
She had heard tales of Tarkin’s sharp memory—that he never forgot a favor or a slight—but the proof made her smile. “Yes, sir. You asked me that day if I’d like to serve the Empire when I grew up, and here I am.”
“Well, well.” Tarkin put his hands behind his back, clearly pleased with himself and with her. “The power of diplomacy in action.”
“The boy with me that day just graduated from the academy, too, at the top of the elite flight track. Now he’s Lieutenant Thane Kyrell.”
Tarkin’s smile was thin but unmistakable. “Apparently I should recruit on Jelucan more often. I shall make a point of keeping up with you both.”
Ciena struggled to maintain correct military composure, but she felt sure her delight showed on her face. Grand Moff Tarkin didn’t seem to mind, however. As the hologram faded out, he nodded at her—as close to friendliness as any superior officer would ever show toward a mere lieutenant. If he’d remembered that incident with the Lambda-class shuttle all those years later, he’d definitely remember to look up her records, and Thane’s. Maybe Tarkin would be more than their inspiration for joining the Imperial Starfleet; maybe he’d even turn into a mentor.
Capturing a rebel ship and winning praise from a Grand Moff before lunchtime? Ciena grinned. This day was turning out to be spectacular.
Thane hadn’t realized exactly how enormous the Death Star was until the first time he had flown his TIE fighter on patrol. Immediately, he had had to adjust the thrusters for the kind of takeoff more common within a planetary atmosphere than on a space station—because the Death Star’s enormity gave it heavy gravitational pull.
Just the thought of that made Thane grin. He’d never imagined building something that colossal was even possible. Now the space station
had become his home, and already he dreaded the day he’d be assigned somewhere else. The Death Star was meant to function as a world of its own, which meant it had creature comforts most other military postings didn’t: decent food, rec areas, cantinas with latest-model bartender droids, commissaries with selections of treats and luxuries, albeit at a stiff price. Although Thane lived in a communal barracks, apparently there were enough private bunks that most people could expect to receive one within three to six months. Usually you had to make lieutenant commander to live in that kind of luxury. To be able to enjoy such a comfortable posting and have the thrill of deep-space flight every day—that went beyond Thane’s wildest dreams.
So did the message he received that morning.
“You’re coming here today,” he repeated as he looked down at Ciena’s face on the small screen. “As in, now.”
“See how we’re communicating without a delay? The Devastator should dock within the hour.” Her eagerness shone through the screen; Thane imagined his did, too. “Will you have any free time?”
“Yeah. Definitely. I already finished my patrol for the day.” As for the next day—well, trading duty shifts wasn’t against rules if you got approval first. He’d fly any shift for anyone if it meant he could spend the whole day with Ciena. “We could go to one of the cantinas. Catch up.”
“Nash can’t wait to see you, either,” Ciena said.
“Right. Definitely. Of course.” Nash might have been one of his best friends, but Thane had never been less interested in hanging out with him. Fortunately, Nash was savvy enough to know when to excuse himself—Thane hoped.
“And I want to see Jude,” Ciena continued. “She’s on board, isn’t she?”
