Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Lost Stars

by Claudia Gray

“Yeah, Jude Edivon’s assigned to the Death Star, but I haven’t run into her once. This place is the size of a moon—it’s like she’s halfway across the planet from me.” When Ciena’s face fell, Thane hastily added, “But when you tell her you’re coming, she’ll find her way to you. Count on it.”

  “You will, too, right?”

  “You’d better believe it,” he said, smiling like an idiot.

  Maybe I didn’t look like a total idiot, Thane thought several hours later, as he went through his secondary duty shift as a maintenance mechanic. Every pilot had to be able to maintain and repair all single- and dual-pilot craft, and by then twin ion engines were as familiar to Thane as his own hands. So he was able to go through his checklist, hitting every point, while still allowing his mind to race. She was smiling, too. So that’s a good sign, right?

  He didn’t ask himself what it was a good sign of. The excitement he felt at the thought of seeing Ciena again remained something he preferred not to examine or name. All he knew was that he hadn’t dreamed of seeing her again so soon, and yet now even another day seemed like too long to wait.

  The Devastator’s already here. Ciena’s on the Death Star right now. Why did I have to pull this stupid shift? I traded so I’d have tomorrow free, but what if Ciena can’t get time off then?

  Thane told himself to stop worrying about it. He took a deep breath and got back to work on the TIE fighter in front of him. The control panel actually needed some new wiring, a task detailed enough to keep him occupied for a while. Just as he put the panel plate back in place, however, he heard the announcement: “All hands in sector four-seventeen to the auxiliary docking doors.”

  That was his sector. Luckily, Thane already stood nearby, so he was able to get into formation first, right in the front line. His mechanic’s jumpsuit bore a few grease stains, but that wasn’t inappropriate for the middle of a work shift. Nonetheless, he felt shabby compared with the many officers around him in either officer’s uniforms or gleaming stormtrooper armor.

  Probably the commander wouldn’t notice, though. He strutted in front of them as he announced, “As of today, the Death Star is fully operational—and it is the will of the Emperor that we demonstrate its power to the entire galaxy!”

  A few cheers went up from the group. Thane clapped a couple of times. He guessed they were going to bring the station close enough to planetary orbit for the populace to see it; that would wow anyone. He’d felt the main engines at work, so obviously the station had traveled somewhere important, maybe Coruscant.…

  The docking bay doors slid open. Although Thane fully understood the force fields that kept atmosphere in and the hostile chill of space out, he still felt a moment’s awe when he looked out on the vast darkness beyond. Slowly, as the door opened, a world appeared. The soft blue sphere seemed to shine with its own light, and as always Thane thought about how beautiful and yet fragile planets looked from that distance.

  “Behold the planet Alderaan,” the commander said.

  Nash’s home! Thane couldn’t help grinning. What luck to be near that world while the Devastator was visiting the station. How many times had Nash promised to show Thane all the sights? It had seemed like no more than a dream, but now Thane might actually get to take a look at Alderaan for himself if he could wrangle the free time. He found himself remembering every story Nash had told him about the best places to go, the incredible natural beauty his world was said to contain. Where should we go first? Cloudshape Falls? The Isatabith rain forest?

  “As some of you will know,” the commander said, “Alderaan is represented in the Imperial Senate by a member of the Organa ruling family. However, it has been discovered that the senator, her father—and, we believe, the entirety of the upper echelons of Alderaanian government—have been secretly financing and supporting the Rebel Alliance.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. Thane couldn’t be sure he’d heard correctly. How could the royal family of Alderaan be mixed up in terrorism? His cynical nature told him nobody was too pure or noble to be corrupted—but it also told him people who benefited from the status quo rarely tried to change it.

  The commander went on: “This station has been chosen to send a message to the entire galaxy. We shall demonstrate, now and for all time, that the Empire’s strength is supreme. Long may the Emperor rule!”

  “Long may the Emperor rule!” shouted all the officers standing at attention, Thane included. He hardly paid attention to the words, which by now were so familiar as to be rote. His mind was still trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.

  Then a deep vibration in the core of the station rippled through the decks, different and more powerful than any Thane had sensed in it before. His hair stood on end, though he didn’t know whether that was from fear or the ionization of the atmosphere.

  What’s happening? he wondered—

  —and then the Death Star blasted Alderaan, and an entire world exploded before him.

  IN SHOCK, ALMOST NUMB, Ciena thought, Look through my eyes.

  She was supposed to let Wynnet see the terrible as well as the beautiful. That meant Ciena had to show her this.

  On the viewscreen, fragments of the planet Alderaan scattered in a thousand directions, all the pieces glowing with the heat of their world’s death. Ciena thought of the billions of people who had just died before her eyes and thought she might begin to cry—but then she saw the officer next to her on the auxiliary assignment station.

  Nash Windrider had gone so pale she thought he might faint. He was a native of Alderaan. His entire family—every place he’d ever been—his home had just been obliterated before his eyes, for disloyalty.

  Instantly, Ciena realized that if Nash did faint or cry or show any visible sign of emotion, it would be seen as a protest. He would be thought guilty of the same treason as the Organas and could be thrown in the brig, if not stripped of his commission on the spot.

  She couldn’t help anyone else, so she would help Nash. Reaching out with one hand, Ciena touched Nash’s arm to steady him. He responded by clutching her fingers and squeezing so tightly it hurt, but she did not pull away. Instead she watched as Nash forced himself to breathe deep, even breaths, holding on to her hand as if it were a towline to bring him to shore.

  To home, Ciena nearly thought. But she caught herself in time.

  In the aftermath of the blast, Ciena walked Nash toward the lift that would take him back to the Devastator’s docking bay, so he could board the ship, go to his barracks, and perhaps be alone. Nash said nothing the entire time. He didn’t even make eye contact with Ciena before walking through the lift doors. In the last second before they shut again, she saw him lean heavily against the wall of the lift, as if otherwise he might fall.

  At least she had a few hours free to collect her thoughts and an old friend to talk things through with. No, it wasn’t the old friend she’d most hoped to see—but still, a welcome face.

  “Naturally, I understood the cannon’s full potential,” Jude said as she and Ciena sat on one of the small observation decks, before a long line of windows. “The superlaser is fueled by an array of giant kyber crystals, which gives it nearly unlimited power. But I had thought it would be used to break up asteroids for mining purposes. Or uninhabited worlds. Not this.”

  Ciena glanced around to see if they were being overheard. “Jude, do you think—what we saw today, what the Death Star did—is there any justification for that? Can there be?”

  Instead of answering right away, Jude sat very still, considering. Ciena had always liked that about her friend—the calm, reasoned way Jude worked things through. When they were young cadets, sometimes her gravity had led her roommates to tease her, but now Ciena was grateful for it.

  “Even though I’ve only been in active service for a few weeks,” Jude finally said, “it has already become evident to me that the Rebel Alliance is a far larger and more dangerous group than official broadcasts have ever acknowledged. We do not operate
as a peacetime military. Our preparations are more appropriate for a time of war.”

  Ciena had already sensed some of that for herself, but when Jude put it in those words, everything crystallized. The threat posed by the Rebel Alliance had become very real.

  Jude continued, “The Organas are guilty of treason, but most of the citizens were not.”

  At least it was quick, Ciena thought, but the rationalization sounded hollow even inside her head. She imagined herself as a child, looking upward, seeing the slate-colored sky turn red and knowing for one sickening moment that it could only be the end. The fear the children of Alderaan would have known—the horror—

  “But it is incorrect to think of what happened to Alderaan as punishing the populace,” Jude said, becoming more brisk. “The only justification for such an extreme act is that this alone is capable of putting down an even more severe threat. The rebels must be reckless—even foolish—to attempt to conquer the entire Imperial fleet. So how can they be made to see reason? To understand the limitations of their power and the inevitability of the Empire’s victory? Nothing but a demonstration on this scale could ever accomplish that. Surely, now, the rebels see that their goals are hopeless and their tactics unwise. We’ll be safe from war now. The billions of people who died today may have saved countless lives through their sacrifice.”

  That had to be true. No terrorist cell in the galaxy, no matter how zealous or bloodthirsty, could believe it had the power to defeat the Empire now. But that sacrifice was one the inhabitants of Alderaan had never chosen to make.

  Jude sighed and stared down at her drink for a long moment. For some reason—the way the light fell or the lost expression on Jude’s face—she looked younger to Ciena, like the girl she’d been when they’d met more than three years earlier. Her immaculately pressed and tailored uniform seemed like a costume for a child playing dress-up. Maybe Ciena also felt too young, too new, to go to war.

  No doubt everyone felt that way at first.

  Ciena said, “So what happened today—as many people as were lost—even more would die in a massive galactic war.”

  “Exactly.” Jude nodded. “Think of the billions who perished in the Clone Wars.”

  “But by ending the war now, before it truly begins, the Death Star will save more lives than it took.” That was a hard thing to think about, the kind of dark calculus Ciena had hoped would never be required of her outside Command Ethics class. Yet now she had to face it and do her duty.

  If only the Empire had not been forced to take such dramatic action. If only the Rebel Alliance had never arisen from whatever mixture of discontent and arrogance fueled its leaders. These terrorists had gambled on the proposition that the Empire would never strike back. Now at last they had been proved wrong—but Ciena wondered whether their leaders would ever take responsibility for the horrible measures necessary to stop this rebellion—this war—before the entire galaxy had been plunged into chaos. Probably not.

  The Rebellion had started this. Even provoked it.

  Ciena felt better now that she understood whom to blame.

  An announcement sounded, echoing from the speakers as officers looked up. “Attention: The Devastator will depart from the station at the beginning of the next duty shift. All personnel should be on board and prepared for new orders.”

  “Oh, no.” Ciena didn’t want to leave Jude just when her friend was helping the world make sense again. The last thing Nash needed was a new and more demanding duty shift instead of some time to collect himself. And she hadn’t even laid eyes on Thane, much less—

  “I doubt the Devastator will be gone for long,” Jude said. “Word has it Lord Vader intends to remain until the current crisis has been resolved. The Devastator is his flagship, so you would undertake only a limited number of missions without him.”

  Of course. Ciena’s spirits brightened. Whatever mission awaited the Devastator couldn’t last more than a couple of weeks, not without Darth Vader on board. “Then I’ll see you again soon.”

  They hugged good-bye quickly before Ciena hurried out into the corridor. She hardly took in the activity around her; the station’s enormity failed to awe. Already her mind was on the future: helping Nash through the next few days, returning for Lord Vader—and it seemed likely the Devastator would visit this station often, so she’d have plenty of chances to visit Jude. She’d be back to see Thane so quickly it would be as if she’d never gone.

  Thane stared at the screen of the communications monitor, willing it to light up with a response from Ciena. Only blackness stared back.

  He knew she was probably on the Devastator, maybe on duty. How could anyone keep going after witnessing the murder of an entire planet? But Thane had continued standing at attention along with the rest, a fact that amazed him more with every passing moment.

  We killed billions of people. We slaughtered billions, and afterward we were expected to applaud.

  Alderaan had been Nash’s homeworld. If Thane was sickened by what he’d just seen, how must Nash be feeling? The guy had to be at the point of collapse. Thane didn’t send a message to him, however. He knew the communications record might be looked over by the internal affairs officer, and any call to or from an Alderaanian would automatically be suspect. For his own sake, Thane didn’t care. He knew how to choose his words carefully so the listener would hear what had to remain unspoken; it was a skill most people cultivated at the academy. But Nash had to be furious—and in his grief and rage, he might say something that would incriminate him.

  No, Thane would have to reach out to Nash later, when it was safer. Anyway, it was Ciena he needed to talk to. She’d always been his touchstone. If he were with her, he thought, he wouldn’t feel so nauseated and angry. He’d feel as if he could breathe again—

  The communications monitor lit up, and Thane’s spirits rose for the split second it took him to realize the message wasn’t from Ciena. Instead, it was his company commander, ordering them to report for duty, immediately.

  “Dantooine?” he repeated to one of his fellow officers as they boarded the troop transport. “That’s in the middle of nowhere.” The place was nearly as obscure as Jelucan.

  “That’s the whole point,” said the other officer as she climbed the entry ramp. “Where else could the rebels hide?”

  They’d better hide, he thought. Now that the galaxy had learned what this space station could do, surely nobody would rise up against the Empire again.

  At least Thane had a couple of moments before boarding was complete to record a message, one Ciena could listen to whenever she got off shift: “Bad news—some of us are being shipped out on a last-minute patrol. That’s only going to take a day or two, but I don’t know how much longer the Devastator’s going to be docked on the—station.”

  The words Death Star were harder for him to say now that the death was real.

  “I really hope I get to see you,” he said, willing her to hear how deeply he meant it. “If not—next time on Jelucan. I promise. So you have to promise, too. All right? Kyrell out.”

  Probably he should have sent Nash a message, as well, but he still had no idea what to say. During the troop lander’s voyage to Dantooine, Thane kept wondering what to do for Nash, but he could think of nothing more useful than sitting his friend down with a bottle of Corellian brandy.

  Once they reached the planet, scans picked up evidence of a rebel base fairly quickly. Before Thane could get into battle armor, however, word came that the base was deserted. They’d do a sweep for intel but no more than that. Sounded like they’d come a long way for nothing.

  But then the troop lander arrived at the abandoned base in the heart of Dantooine’s gloomy badlands, and Thane saw not some ramshackle hangar or scrubby smuggler’s den but the remnants of a real military organization.

  They could’ve had dozens of small starfighters in this area alone, he thought as he scanned the vast enclosure. Data scrolling past on his screen told him the installation had also he
ld dozens of droid-charging ports, sophisticated communications technology that would allow for near-instantaneous cross-galactic information transfer, and bunks for several hundred rebels. And there seemed to be at least a dozen structures similar to that one. Plus they found evidence of extensive digging underground, so apparently the rebels had at one point planned to expand the base.

  This was no small band of malcontents. The Rebel Alliance was an army.

  No, their fighting force was nowhere near the scale of the Empire’s might. But Thane had taken enough tactics classes at the academy to know that an enemy didn’t have to be your equal; as long as its forces reached a certain critical mass, they had the power to cause real damage. It looked to him like the Rebellion was nearly there.

  His usual train of thought about the rebels began: They’re terrorists, they’re thugs. The Empire has its flaws, but so did the Republic these guys worship. You can’t trust power no matter what. It doesn’t really matter who’s in charge.

  He’d thought he was being so worldly and wise. Now—with the blaze of Alderaan’s destruction still glowing in his mind—Thane knew how hollow his rationalizations had been. Terrorism could never be the answer, but as of that day, the Empire was as guilty of acts of terror as the Rebel Alliance was, if not more.

  His tour of duty, postgraduation, was five years. After that, technically, Thane could resign his commission and take whatever work he chose—but the vast majority of Imperial officers remained in service until they hit mandatory retirement age or died, whichever came first. He’d always figured he would be a lifer. Now it felt like he couldn’t wear that uniform another five minutes.

  How many times had he said he’d stay in the Imperial Starfleet just so he’d get to fly the greatest ships in the galaxy? The words sounded so callow now. Juvenile, even.

  You don’t really want to walk out, Thane told himself as he continued taking readings, his expression carefully impassive. What you’ve seen today proves we’re on the brink of galactic war. They need you.