by Claudia Gray
“It’s a miracle the thing still runs at all.” She felt a spark of grudging admiration for the Falcon; as someone who’d learned to fly on a V-171, occasionally she got sentimental about clunky old ships. “Our orders?”
“We’re to disable the hyperdrive.”
“Why are we disabling a ship we’ve already captured?”
“Lord Vader has his reasons,” Nash said, raising one eyebrow. The subtext seemed to be, Do you want to tell him he’s wrong?
Ciena nodded. “Got it.”
She and Nash worked together for several moments in silence. Even in the tight confines of the engineering pit within the Falcon, it seemed to her that Nash stood closer than necessary. But maybe she was imagining things because she wanted so much to be alone while she worked out her thoughts about Thane.
Disabling the hyperdrive proved simple. Before long she and Nash were on the shuttle that would take them back to the Executor; they were cleared to fly openly now, because another pilot sought by Darth Vader—another target lured into this trap—had just landed. Within minutes, this entire chase would be over. Princess Leia would stand trial. Her fellow rebels would be made an example of. Perhaps the Rebellion itself would be exposed…
…and Thane with it.
She moved through the ship on autopilot, reporting to her bridge shift with gratitude that the next few hours promised to be uneventful. That promise didn’t come true; Vader’s suspicions did. Sure enough, the Millennium Falcon zoomed off its platform, nearly made its escape—then inexplicably headed back to Cloud City and dived beneath it.
“Where do they think that’s going to get them?” Nash’s long fingers hit the toggles that would focus all sensors on the Falcon.
“Who knows?” She could almost pity these people, believing in their freedom when in reality Darth Vader had been two steps ahead of them the entire time.
Although the bridge of the Executor now buzzed with renewed activity, Ciena could do little but monitor these final moments of the hunt. Still she felt oddly detached from everything that was happening, even when Lord Vader returned to the bridge.
Admiral Piett said, “They’ll be within range of the tractor beam within moments, my lord.”
Through the heavy rasp of his respirator, Vader said, “Did your men disable the hyperdrive on the Millennium Falcon?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good,” Darth Vader said. “Prepare the boarding party and set your weapons for stun.”
Ciena would normally have felt a little thrill of pride at her service being recognized. Instead she felt detached, as if this were only a drill, or a memory—until the horrifying moment when the Falcon leaped into hyperspace and vanished.
How the hell did they do that?
Nash gaped at her in disbelief. Ciena might have shared his outrage if she hadn’t caught a glimpse of Admiral Piett’s face. He had turned ashen, and even from her place down in the data pits, she could see the knot in his throat bob as he swallowed hard.
We’re about to be killed, she thought. The admiral, Nash and I—Vader will murder us all. We completed our assignment but it doesn’t matter.
For years she’d been thankful she’d never seen one of Vader’s “eliminations” in person. Now it looked as if the first one she’d ever witness would be her own.
But Vader simply stood there a few moments longer, in silence, then turned and walked off the bridge without another word. When the doors slid shut behind him, Piett sagged for a moment, like someone who had put down a heavy burden and whose body still felt the weight. Nash leaned onto his monitors, head in hand. Ciena waited to feel relief, too, but the dread only dulled and deepened until it felt as if it had sunk into her very bones.
That evening, as they sat in a corner of the quadrant cafeteria, empty plates in front of them, Ciena asked, “Why do you think people join the Rebellion?”
Berisse shrugged. “The same reason other people commit robbery or go into business with the Hutts. They can’t fit into any normal society, so they hate those of us who do.”
Thane had been at the top of the elite flight track. If he’d stayed in the service, Ciena had no doubt he’d be looking at an early promotion to commander, too. She’d have to find another answer. “What do you think, Nash?”
“Who cares how scum like that get started?” he said, too lightly. “I only want to see them finished.”
“Why do you ask?” Berisse took another sip of her nutritive milk. While more “regular” meals were available upon request, only the most senior officers could indulge without being thought soft. Ciena had eaten her last piece of bread more than two years ago.
Ciena shrugged. “No reason.”
“You’re in an odd mood today,” Nash said. His warm brown eyes studied hers. He had become so thin since they’d graduated from the academy, his frame going from wiry to gaunt—but his eyes, at least, were the same. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t dare tell the whole truth, but if anyone could help her understand Thane’s choice, it would be Nash. “I’ve been thinking about Thane a lot lately.”
Berisse slid an arm around Ciena’s shoulders; Nash’s smile faded into sadness. “I still can’t believe it,” he said softly. “Thane was the last person I ever thought would commit suicide.”
“After the Death Star, none of us were ourselves,” Berisse said, shaking her head.
“But he had so much to live for. His commission, top ranking as a pilot, revenge against the rebels, and—and he had you, Ciena.” Nash stumbled over the last part, though he covered it well enough. “That ought to be enough for any man.”
Ciena didn’t meet his eyes. “I keep wondering why he felt so hopeless.”
Only a man without hope would go from the Empire to the Rebellion. It was one thing for Thane to walk away from his oath because he felt he could no longer keep it. But to join a group of nihilistic guerrilla warriors? He was no idealist, so he couldn’t have been converted to whatever bizarre political dogma they used to sway the gullible. Thane could only be going through the motions, no more.
“Did Thane have any other close friends aboard the Death Star? Maybe someone you didn’t know about?” Berisse hesitated, tucking a loose strand of black hair back into her regulation bun. “Like—well—a girl from the academy? From before he fell for you, I mean! He could still have been upset by her death.”
It was Nash who answered. “He was never with anyone while we were at school. I don’t suppose there was anyone back on Jelucan?”
“No.” Ciena had occasionally seen him walking out with second-wave girls, but never the same one twice.
With a shrug, Berisse said, “Maybe it was something that happened on your homeworld. He was upset after the Death Star, he left his duty but meant only to go home and collect himself—and then the visit went terribly wrong.”
“I always had an inkling his relationship with his father was strained at best. Abusive at worst,” Nash said. “Oh, don’t give me those wide eyes, Ciena. I lived in the same room as Thane for three years. You think I never saw the scars on his back?” His expression had become set, hard. “I’ll bet his father lit into Thane at the worst possible moment. Drove him over the edge.”
“I wouldn’t put it past Thane’s dad.” That much, at least, was completely true. But by then Ciena realized Nash had no answers to offer. Thane’s choice to join the Rebellion would remain an infuriating mystery—an arrow lodged in her flesh, one that couldn’t be pulled free and so kept the wound open forever.
She remained lost in thought until Nash had escorted her almost all the way back to her room. Her door stood at the far end of the longest corridor of the barracks section, so they were far away from anyone else when he put one hand on her arm.
“Going to bed already?” he said, his tone light. But nobody could miss his true meaning.
Ciena had suspected this might be coming, but in her preoccupation had failed to see it would be tonight. No wonder Berisse had excused
herself earlier; she was going to be in serious trouble for enabling him. “Nash—it’s a bad idea.”
“On the contrary, it’s a wonderful idea.” His eyes danced with mischief and anticipation. “Don’t you think we deserve to have a little fun?”
As gently as she could manage, Ciena answered, “I think you want more than fun. And I can’t give it to you.”
Nash tilted his head, not disagreeing with her but not withdrawing, either. “Could I perhaps persuade you to spend more rec time together? So we could get to know each other without Berisse or our other friends in the way? I realize the shift from friends to, well, more—it can be tricky. But I think it’s worth trying. And for you, I’d be willing to wait.”
She took a step away from him. Her back bumped against the metal mesh of the wall. How ridiculous, to be as bashful and clumsy as a schoolgirl. More firmly she said, “I can’t.”
His face fell, and she could see he’d gone from flirty to aghast in only seconds. “What an idiot I’ve been. We were talking about Thane only an hour ago. I ought to have realized this is hardly the time. Please forgive me.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
“I miss him, too, you know.” Nash looked so stricken that Ciena found herself feeling guilty. The lie she’d told about Thane’s suicide had saved his life but wounded his other friends forever. “I didn’t mean to make light of how you felt about him.”
“I know you didn’t.” Ciena managed to smile. “So let’s say good night.”
Nash sighed. “Let’s.” He squeezed her hand once, just for a moment, and then walked away.
As her bunk doors slid shut and locked, Ciena sagged onto her bed, so tired she felt as if she’d pulled three shifts in a row.
She told herself that she’d turned Nash down because she had no romantic feelings for him. So far as it went, that was true.
But she couldn’t deny that a big part of the reason was what she still felt for Thane Kyrell.
I should hate him now. I have to learn to hate him. But I can’t. I never could.
The small communicator unit in her corner of the bunk blinked—the blue light that meant the message was from a non-Imperial source. For Ciena, that could only mean a holo from home. Her fingers had almost hit the button before she caught herself. Should I watch this right away?
Should I watch it at all?
She still missed Jelucan. Even though she drank her nutritives, she longed for a piece of bread every single time she walked into the cafeteria. She spoke to her family regularly, by holo, instead of relying on the bimonthly communiqués suggested by the internal affairs officer.
From her pocket, Ciena pulled the small pouch in which she kept the leather bracelet that tied her to Wynnet. It had been a long time since she’d last asked her dead sister to look through her eyes.
Too long, she thought with a surge of feeling that made her fingers close tightly around the pouch. I don’t have to choose between being Jelucani and being a good Imperial officer. I can be both.
Ciena was smiling as she started the holo and saw her pappa’s face looking out at her. After only a few words of his prerecorded speech, her smile faded.
Ronnadam’s gray eyebrows were arched so high they nearly reached his receding hairline. “You want to return to your home planet for an…undefined period of time.”
“I’ve accrued seven weeks of leave time, sir. I strongly doubt I will use them all.”
Ideal Imperial officers used no leave time whatsoever, unless they had to recover from a serious illness or injury. Ciena had never asked to take a single day until now.
Ronnadam rose from his desk and clasped his hands behind his back. His green eyes had a strangely milky quality, as if they belonged to a far older man. “Your decision to use your leave time is your own. But I am not questioning the length of your absence. I’m questioning your motivation to return to your home planet at all.”
“My mother will be put on trial for embezzling funds from the local mine where she works—worked as a supervisor.” The words alone sounded surreal to Ciena. Her mother, a thief? It was impossible. She cared nothing for physical possessions beyond the few things they already owned, and her promotion at the mine had made them all so proud. “In the valleys of Jelucan, to have one’s honor questioned is the most serious crisis an individual can face, sir. Those who believe in that person’s honor must gather around them at that time. It is a sacred duty.”
“‘Sacred,’ indeed.” In Ronnadam’s mouth, the word became a sneer. “You do realize, Lieutenant Commander Ree, that the charges against your mother would have been brought by the local Imperial authority. Are you questioning the judgment of a fellow servant of the Emperor?”
“Of course not, sir. But my mother could have been framed for the crime, or there may be some other mistake that has led to a…misunderstanding.”
Ronnadam pursed his lips in sympathy, an expression that was meant to mock Ciena more than convince her. “Do you hear your own rationalizations, Ree?”
“I don’t want to judge based on incomplete information, sir. I must investigate this for myself.” She managed to look him in the eyes. “No matter what the truth may be, I will face it.”
Slowly he nodded. “Yes. This could be a learning experience for you.” He paced in front of her, step by measured step. “Take your leave, Lieutenant Commander. Witness your mother’s trial.”
Ciena tried to imagine her mother standing before a judge, hands shackled. She couldn’t.
Ronnadam began to smile. “And when you return, report to me immediately. Let me know the final ruling on her guilt or innocence—and tell me whether you believe that judgment to be justified.”
No matter what the judge ruled, Ciena would be expected to support it—even if he sent her mother to a prison camp.…
That won’t happen. It can’t. The judge will make the right decision in the end.
So she told herself. She wanted to believe it.
But for the first time, her oath to the Empire did not sustain Ciena. The feeling she had worked hard to keep at bay for the past three years—the one she had never allowed herself to consciously think of before—could be held back no longer:
Doubt.
THANE ANGLED HIS X-wing low, until it nearly skimmed the thick canopy of trees covering the surface of D’Qar. In the twilight he could see leaves thrashing beneath the other ships as if caught in a windstorm. If anyone were on the ground beneath them, Corona Squadron would be detected within minutes.
We’re not going to be here that long, Thane reminded himself. He opened the secure channel. “Corona Five, this is Corona Four, do you copy?”
“Copy.” Kendy replied. “Negative readings here. I’m not picking up any artificial power sources.”
“Same here.”
Corona Squadron had been sent to check out D’Qar for any possible sign of a new Imperial outpost. Apparently, deep-cover spies on Coruscant had reported massive amounts of materiel being processed for the Imperial Starfleet; nobody knew precisely what it was being used for, but there were rumors of a new large-ship construction facility…
But if the Empire had begun building new Star Destroyers or some other kinds of superweapons, it wasn’t doing so on D’Qar. They’d run scans on every hemisphere, searched planetary and solar orbits, and come up empty.
Thane realized he’d rather have found something. At least then they’d have learned what the Empire was planning, and they could have taken meaningful action: sabotaging the factories, placing a few surveillance droids in key locations, and so on. For now, he simply had to endure the suspense.
He said, “Corona Two, do you also read negative?”
“Confirmed. Complete negative on Imperial activity,” Yendor replied. “Unless the Empire’s drafting small woodland creatures all of a sudden.”
“Doubt it.” Thane considered for a moment. “We should list this planet as a potential base in future. The Empire’s not interested, not much space lane t
raffic in this area, and there’s plenty of water.”
“Plus it beats Hoth,” Yendor said.
“The belly of a sarlacc beats Hoth.” Thane began punching in the navigational codes that would take him back to the Liberty.
Corona Leader apparently agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”
Once they had returned to their ship, the rest of Corona Squadron went through maintenance on their X-wings in the muggy repair bay of the Liberty, trading the usual banter back and forth. “Come on,” Yendor said to the squadron leader and the eldest pilot in the group, a stately woman who was addressed only as the Contessa. “You can’t tell me this isn’t more fun than life in a palace.”
She gave him a look. “You need to spend more time in palaces.”
“You know, I do,” Yendor agreed. “You can fix me up with that, right?”
“Honestly,” the Contessa huffed—but not without affection. “You could learn from Smikes here. He never pretends we’re having a better time than we are.”
“We’re never having a good time,” Smikes said from beneath his X-wing. He had a bandana tied around his forehead to combat the endless sweat suffered by any human who lived on a Mon Calamari ship. “We’re in a war. What’s fun about this?”
“So cranky,” Yendor said amiably. “Someday I’m going to hear you laugh, and I hope a protocol droid is around to record it.”
“Don’t be so hard on Smikes,” Kendy said, tossing her dark green hair over her shoulder. “He’s just grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy, I’m a realist,” Smikes insisted. He was in fact always grumpy, but a great pilot.
Thane shook his head as he looked at all of them—as mixed up a crew as you were likely to find, people who wouldn’t have spent time together outside this squadron or this war under any circumstances. But at least they had his back.
Unlike some people.
Much later, once everyone else had finished up, Kendy said, “I have to admit, intelligence work is a little less glamorous and dramatic than I always thought it would be.”
