by Claudia Gray
Thane felt the autonav kick in. It was a bit like having another pilot try to wrench the controls away from him.
But he’d spent most of his childhood learning how to fly with a partner. You didn’t fight for control; you built it together.
The autonav remained locked on its target, oblivious to severe wind conditions; that made it Thane’s job to tilt and steer the ship in ways that would fight that wind while they stayed the course. At one point the disconnect between the two jerked the ship hard, shaking everyone violently enough that even mild-mannered Methwat yelped. But Thane got them back in sync within a few moments.
When the hangar appeared on the horizon, Thane finally felt like he could breathe again. Dampers—slow thrust, hover down—and the Moa settled safely onto the ground.
As Brill and Methwat began to applaud, Thane folded his arms behind his head like he hadn’t been worried at all. “That’s right,” he said. “I’m good.”
“You’re lucky!” Brill insisted, but with a huge grin.
“All right, I’m lucky. Whatever works.”
You wouldn’t have believed it if you’d been there, he imagined saying to Ciena. Then again, if you’d been there, you would’ve insisted on taking the controls instead of me—and probably would’ve brought us in for an even smoother landing.
Thane kept storing up anecdotes to tell her someday, even though he knew that day would never come. He’d tried to stop, but he couldn’t help it.
Lohgarra told Thane she was very, very proud of him and wrapped her huge furry arms around him in a hug. Then she showed the highest form of praise and affection, for a Wookiee: she started grooming him.
Thane sighed as she got to work on his hair in earnest. This wasn’t how they did things in the Empire.
The next day, the storm had moved along far enough that they could start distributing their supplies. To Thane’s surprise, another group of pilots had landed a few days before with a substantial haul of medical gear and emergency rations, so they wound up working side by side.
“You brought that ship in yesterday?” said their leader, a black-haired man a few years older than Thane. “That was a nice piece of flying.”
“Thanks.”
“You do a lot of hauls like this? To worlds in trouble?”
“Sometimes. Lohgarra gets the credit for that,” Thane said as the two of them unloaded crates. “But I like that she does it.”
“Less money in it for you.”
“Never cared much about money.”
“What other runs have you been on?”
Thane hesitated before answering. If he was suspected of disloyalty to the Empire, he could be reported…but there was no way to talk honestly about his experiences of the last several months without making his feelings clear.
He’d known the Empire was rotten, but he hadn’t realized how deep the rot went. The plight of the Bodach’i had disturbed him deeply, and yet now he knew they were only one of hundreds of entire species the Empire had subjugated for labor. He’d flown the Mighty Oak to worlds mined so savagely that new seas had been carved into what were once cities and farmlands. He’d looked down at cities strafed to rubble and ash by Imperial laser cannons as punishment for even mild defiance.
“Zeitooine,” Thane said. “And Dinwa Prime, and Arieli. More recently, Ivera X.” He spoke evenly but was aware what he’d said was in effect a list of the Empire’s war crimes.
The other man met his eyes evenly. “Then you’ve seen a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“When we get done here, you and I should have a chat. I’ve been to several of those worlds. Good to hear what other people believe should be done.”
Is he thinking about reporting me? Thane knew it was possible, but his gut told him no. Slowly, he nodded. “Sure. We’ll talk. I’m Thane Kyrell, by the way.”
The black-haired man smiled and held out his hand to shake. “Wedge Antilles.”
They wound up sharing a couple of ration trays just inside the hangar doors. The worst of the hurricane had passed through by that time. Heavy, silvery sheets of rain still fell, but the winds had died down until the palms and jungle trees merely swayed. The sound of rustling leaves and raindrops on the metal roof remained loud enough to drown out their conversation if anyone attempted to listen.
“You showed courage,” Wedge said. “Leaving like that.”
Thane shrugged. “I laundered my credits and sneaked away. Not the bravest thing anyone’s ever done.”
“You defied the Empire alone. You gave up the life and career you’d built rather than violate your principles. I’d call that brave.”
“Stop trying to get on my good side and say what you’re trying to say.”
This was met with a sharp look—apparently Wedge Antilles wasn’t used to not being taken at his word. Maybe Thane was being unfair, but so what? He had to be careful about whom he chose to trust. Lohgarra and the rest of the Moa crew had earned that; Ciena would always have his loyalty to some degree, even if he never saw her again.
But this guy? He needed to come out with it already.
Evenly, Wedge said, “We could use pilots like you in the Rebel Alliance.”
The rebels? Here? Thane wouldn’t have dreamed they’d dare show themselves only to help a planet in distress. But he knew Wedge was telling the truth. “No. Sorry.”
“You hate the Empire. After what you’ve seen, you couldn’t help it.”
“True,” Thane admitted. “But I don’t care much for your rebellion either.”
“We’re fighting to free the galaxy—”
“You started a war, and a lot of people are going to die because of it.”
Wedge’s dark eyes blazed with intensity. “Palpatine began the war. We’re going to end it.”
The strength of the man’s belief was slightly unnerving. “Against the Empire? I’ll grant you this much—you’re brave. But you’re fooling yourselves if you think you can take on a force like the Imperial fleet and win.”
“We destroyed the Death Star, didn’t we? With a handful of single-pilot fighters! I flew on that mission, and I’m still here. A lot of Imperial officers can’t say the same.”
“Including some friends of mine,” Thane said quietly. He hadn’t been that close to Jude Edivon, but he remembered how kind she’d been, how bright. She’d deserved a longer life than that, and a better death. And the fellow officers he’d just begun to know, young guys like him who were starting their careers together—sometimes their faces flashed through Thane’s head at night when he was trying to sleep. “Listen, I get why you did it. I know the Death Star had to be stopped. But don’t fool yourself. That was bloody work.”
“I know,” Wedge said quietly. “It’s like you said: the Death Star had to be stopped. Just as the Empire must be destroyed. If that’s going to happen, some of us have to get blood on our hands. We have to be willing to kill, and willing to die. It’s not easy and it never will be. But I can tell you this much, Kyrell. It’s easier than standing by and doing nothing.”
Thane remembered that day on Zeitooine and the family he’d seen dragged away to prison. He’d felt so useless, so powerless. As long as he remained a refugee from the Empire, he would never again be able to act on his beliefs. He would never be able to stand up for anyone again.
Unless he did not stand alone.
Late that night—after hours of work, hours more of talking with Wedge, and a couple of Corellian ales—Thane returned to the Moa. He walked toward his bunk quietly, knowing both Methwat and Brill would be asleep, but Lohgarra sat in the galley, munching on an enormous slab of cheese.
“Hey,” he said. “Can’t sleep?”
Lohgarra admitted she’d woken up hungry, then said Thane looked worried.
“‘Worried’ isn’t exactly the word.” The number of people he trusted enough to share this with could have been counted on one hand, with fingers left over—but Lohgarra was among them. “Lieutenant Commander Antilles, from the,
uh, unaffiliated group earlier today? He wants me to fly with them.”
That earned a roar of indignation. How dare that man try to steal her best pilot? Taking advantage of a crisis like that was unthinkable. She’d see to it that Thane got a raise, if that was what it took to keep him—
“No, no, Lohgarra, you don’t understand.” Thane lowered his voice. “They’re with the Rebellion.”
She fell silent. Was that shock or disapproval?
He leaned forward, trying to put his thoughts into words not only for her sake but also for his. “I never thought about joining the Rebellion. You know, I understood the Empire was corrupt, but I thought so was the Old Republic by the end. So would be whatever other government might follow. I told myself it was all the same. But what I’ve seen these past several months—it goes beyond corruption. The Empire wrecks worlds and enslaves entire species and doesn’t give a damn about anyone under its rule. I mean, as rich as Coruscant is, they couldn’t send any humanitarian aid here?”
Lohgarra quietly said the need on Oulanne was great.
“Exactly. The Empire didn’t come here, but the rebels did. These guys are fighting a war, always on the run, and they still shared their supplies.” None of it made sense to Thane. Most people didn’t do the right thing even when they weren’t in danger—
—but he’d learned from Ciena that there were actually a few idealists out there.
He continued, “Ci—This girl I knew believed the Empire would never destroy another world once the Rebellion had been defeated, but that’s because she’s so good she can’t even recognize evil when it’s staring her in the face. I mean, why would the Empire go to the trouble of building a space station that could destroy planets if it wasn’t going to use it? And if the Empire would do that, there’s nothing it wouldn’t do.” Thane straightened and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what comes after the Empire. I can’t say that whoever gets power next will be any better—but it can’t get any worse. That’s not possible. If there’s even a chance I can do something that helps take the Empire down, I feel like I have to do it.”
After a long moment, Lohgarra quietly said that her own people had been enslaved by the Empire. Kashyyyk had been such a beautiful place when she was young. Now it had been turned into a hell. She found it difficult to speak of her homeworld’s tragedy, but she never forgot it.
Thane thought about the sheer level of brutality necessary to conquer a species as powerful as the Wookiees. “Is this your way of telling me you’re joining the Rebellion, too?”
She shook her head. The Moa was hardly in shape to haul cargo, much less go into battle—and for Brill and Methwat, it was not only a ship but also their home. A decision to join the Rebellion would have to be unanimous, and Lohgarra felt Thane knew as well as she did that they weren’t there yet.
That was true. But—“We could put in somewhere, refurbish the ship. Talk to the others. Nobody here has any love for the Empire. In a month or two, I bet we could bring them around.”
Probably, Lohgarra admitted. After a pause she asked if he wanted to wait to join the Rebellion, if he wasn’t ready right away.
Thane flushed. “I’m not a coward.”
Her massive hand petted his head. Lohgarra knew he was brave. Yet she also suspected Thane had other reasons to hesitate.
All those months Thane had tried so hard to keep his past, and his feelings, to himself. He should’ve known his captain was too perceptive not to guess at some of the truth. “It’s just that I used to serve in the Imperial Starfleet. A lot of my friends and classmates are still with the Empire, including someone who I…who means a lot to me. On some level, attacking the Empire feels like attacking them.”
Lohgarra pointed out that he had accepted the risks of combat when he joined the Imperial fleet, and so had everyone else.
“Yeah, I know.” He leaned back in the creaky seat and took a deep breath. “But joining the Rebellion—leaving the Empire is one thing, but taking up arms against it is another. The friends I served with before would never forgive that. Especially the woman I was telling you about, Ciena. She’d never speak to me again if she knew. Not that she’s likely to anyway, I guess.”
With a soft whine, Lohgarra told him the Force had a way of bringing people together when the time was right.
Oh, great, the Force. My best bet is this crazy magic old valley kindred still believe in. But Thane said nothing, knowing Lohgarra’s beliefs were important to her. Instead he asked, “Is this your way of saying it’s all right for me to go? Since ‘the Force’ will make sure we meet again?”
His answer came in the form of a big hug that enveloped him in white fur. As he hugged Lohgarra back, she told him to promise her he would eat well.
He had to laugh. “I promise.”
I’m really doing it, he thought. It still seemed unreal. I’m going to war against the Empire. I’m joining the Rebel Alliance.
“YOUR SERVICE THESE past two years has been exemplary, Lieutenant Commander Ree.”
Ciena stood at attention in front of Admiral Ozzel, hands held firmly at her sides. Junior officers did not make eye contact with superiors during evaluations, so she stared fixedly at the metal-tiled wall behind him.
“You frequently volunteer for extra shifts or to help train newer officers on Star Destroyer protocols. Aside from the unfortunate incident on Ivarujar, you have received no punishments or reprimands—and it does not escape my notice that your offense then has never been repeated. You’ve never even been admonished about your uniform.”
The leather bracelet she carried for Wynnet remained in its cloth pouch in her pocket. No regulation said she couldn’t keep something in her pocket.
“You were transferred to the Executor from the Devastator at the request of Lord Vader himself. A high honor indeed.”
Ciena did not respond. Privately, she thought Vader’s request had been more threat than reward. She had seen him adrift in space, nearly helpless. He would not want anyone to think of him as vulnerable in any way. So he had to remind Ciena that she remained forever vulnerable to him.
Ozzel continued: “Although you are far too senior for TIE fighter duty, you put in the simulator time to make sure your piloting instincts stay sharp.”
Ciena decided she could speak. “We never know what a crisis may demand of us, sir.”
She also loved flying for its own sake and sometimes dreamed all night of swooping through the canyons of Jelucan with Thane by her side. But it wasn’t against regulations to love what she did—or to remember what she had lost.
“Very well said.” Admiral Ozzel came as close to smiling as she’d ever seen from him. “In short, Lieutenant Commander Ree, your performance aboard the Executor exceeds expectations on every point. Keep this up and you’ll make commander before long.”
Commander. Ciena wasn’t as wrapped up in the idea of advancement as she had been three years ago, but she could take satisfaction in having done her duty so well. Even with the unnaturally fast rate of promotion following the Death Star’s destruction, making commander less than five years out of the academy was a major achievement. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Afterward, as she walked through the dark metal corridors of the Executor, she mulled over her likely promotion. It ought to have been cause for celebration; she should’ve messaged Nash and Berisse immediately, telling them to meet her later for a cup or two of ale. Instead, the praise from her superior officer only reminded her of how she had failed the Empire once—when she had lied to protect a friend.
Worst of all, Ciena knew if she had to make the same choice again, she would still pick Thane.
As she walked past one of the observation decks, she looked out at the stars and wondered where he might be. Surely he’d left Jelucan as she’d told him to do. Their world was dangerous for him; those snakes he called family would turn him in for a two-credit piece. Yet Ciena remained haunted by the vision of Thane trapped where she’d seen him last—broke, stu
ck in a tiny room above a seedy Valentia bar, with that lost look in his blue eyes.
Stop it, she told herself. Thane’s smart. He’s a talented pilot. By now, surely, he’s found work and a good place to live. Probably he’s happy.
You’re not small enough to begrudge Thane a happy life without you. Right?
Ciena straightened up and smoothed her hands down the front of her uniform jacket. The shadowy reflection she saw silhouetted against the stars in the window was once again that of the perfect Imperial officer. The excellence of her service had long since ceased to be only a matter of honoring her oath. She also thought of it as the price she paid for giving Thane his freedom. No one would ever be able to say she hadn’t paid in full.
I know; I’ll tell Mumma and Pappa I might be promoted. Most Imperial officers limited their messages to and from home as a symbol of their commitment, but Ciena figured that was easier for people from Core Worlds, who could expect to see their families in person more than once every five years. She still communicated with her family at least once a tenday, telling them about everything from grav-ball tournaments to Berisse’s jokes—well, the jokes that were repeatable.
The only subject her family never discussed was Thane Kyrell. Ciena didn’t want to lie to her parents about him; also, she knew they’d realize she was lying right away. The fewer people who suspected the truth about Thane, the better.
Her parents always seemed happy to receive her messages, especially Mumma. But lately, Ciena had begun to notice that their replies were almost entirely about her life, not theirs. They no longer knew all the valley gossip, or no longer cared to share it. Mumma would sometimes speak about her supervisory job at the mine, but over the years, her tone had shifted from pride to a matter-of-fact weariness. Maybe that was only natural, but Ciena couldn’t help noticing it—as well as the fact that her father rarely mentioned anything about his own life or the greater valley at all.…
“There you are,” said a pleasant, cultured male voice. Ciena turned to see Lieutenant Nash Windrider walking toward her with a slight smile on his face. During the three years since Alderaan’s destruction, he had gradually recovered some of his old wit and dash. No, he would never be the same again—but she no longer saw the terrible shadows under his eyes that had scared her so in the beginning. Both he and her friend Berisse Sai had been transferred from the Devastator to the Executor when Darth Vader chose it as his new flagship; they were also posted to the same quadrant within the vessel, so she saw them often. “I’ve been looking for you, Ciena.”
