by Claudia Gray
Captain Ronnadam studied her for what seemed to be too long a time. His thin mustache twitched once, but she could not tell whether he felt amusement or irritation. “Your mother was guilty, then.”
“The evidence presented was very clear, sir.”
“You surprise me, Ree.” His tone made it impossible to know whether that was a good thing, and his eyes were narrow. He held her in contempt for doing the very thing he had forced her to do. Did he recognize his own hypocrisy? Probably not. “Very well. You have used two weeks’ leave, but otherwise your record remains unblemished. I believe we can expect a promotion in your near future.”
Ronnadam honestly thought she would betray her own mother just for the sake of advancement. Ciena dug her fingernails into her palms, using the pain to steady herself. “Thank you, sir.”
Do your duty. Keep the course. There is good here in so many of the people who serve. I owe it to them to fulfill my oath and learn how I can help save the Empire from its own corruption.
They were noble sentiments, and she meant them. Yet in her mind she imagined saying all this to Thane, and he only shook his head.
THANE MADE IT back to the Liberty just in time. Corona Squadron was already preparing to move—not in the frenzy that followed any threat of imminent attack but quickly enough that he would have missed them if he’d returned a few hours later.
“Mr. Kyrell. How kind of you to join us,” said the Contessa as she walked through the hangar, where pilots busily loaded astromech droids and checked ration packs. He nodded at her but didn’t slow his steps until he’d walked straight to General Rieekan.
“Kyrell.” Rieekan hardly looked away from his tablet. He stood in the center of the activity; a firework spray of blue-white sparks rose from a nearby welding torch. The air smelled of rubber and fuel. “Excellent. You’ve got two hours until takeoff.”
Thane stood at attention with his chin slightly lifted, the way he’d learned at the academy. The old training had kicked in the first moment he’d acknowledged he might have screwed up. “Sir. I need to report my movements during my absence.”
“This is a volunteer army, remember? You’re free to come and go as you please, as long as you observe all security protocols.”
“I returned to my homeworld of Jelucan to—assist a friend in trouble,” Thane said. Rieekan didn’t glance up until Thane added, “My friend is an officer in the Imperial Starfleet.”
That did it. Rieekan stared, and all around him the buzz of work began falling silent. Thane could almost feel the eyes on him, as hot as searchlights.
General Rieekan’s decibel level rose markedly. “You made contact with an enemy officer.”
“Yes, sir.” Thane offered nothing more. He knew he had to report it, but he’d be damned if he’d apologize for seeing Ciena.
“That’s highly irregular, Kyrell,” Rieekan said. “But you concealed your activities with the Rebel Alliance from this officer?”
“…Lieutenant Commander Ree was already aware I had joined the Rebellion. Sir.”
Murmurs rose around him; by then, he’d drawn a crowd. From the corner of his eye, Thane could see shocked expressions on the faces of Yendor, Smikes, and Kendy. However, he never turned away from Rieekan.
“How the hell did she know that?” Rieekan’s alarm was very real. “Do we have a double agent feeding them intel?”
“No, sir. Not regarding this. She—she had identified me based on Imperial battle footage.” Nobody would believe it if he confessed that Ciena had known him only by the way he flew. They were the only two people who could ever understand that.
Rieekan accepted this explanation, which was a relief, but Thane wasn’t out of trouble yet. “Are you absolutely sure this officer lacked any opportunity to place a tracking device on your vehicle or your person?”
“It didn’t happen, sir.” He wasn’t going to get into the many things Ciena had had an opportunity to do to his person. “I guarantee that. At no point did I share any information about Rebellion members, bases, or activities. Nor did she ask. This was a personal matter.”
“Personal.” Rieekan shook his head. “We’ll scan you and your ship. If those scans check out, we’ll let this drop.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And we can take it as a given that you’re not going to make contact with any Imperial officer ever again?”
Thane remembered their final moments together in front of her house, the way her fingers had tightened around the collar of his jacket as if she could hold him there by will alone. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well. Just for the record, Kyrell? The galaxy is full of women who don’t fight for the enemy.”
With that, Rieekan walked off. A couple of the droids zoomed in on Thane’s X-wing to search it. That left him to finally face the rest of Corona Squadron. The other pilots had already gathered around, their expressions displaying everything from disbelief to outrage. Smikes spoke first. “You abandoned your post to bang your ex? The lieutenant commander in the Imperial Starfleet ex?”
Thane refused to be cowed. “They’re about to promote her to commander.”
People groaned. Obviously, he was going to be the least popular member of Corona Squadron for some time to come—a loose cannon, someone who would take risks for no reason. Fine by him. As long as they didn’t doubt his allegiance, Thane didn’t give a damn what they thought of his choices.
“We all have to put our pasts behind us. All of us. That includes even the people on our side, much less Imperial loyalists.” The Contessa had never showed anger before, but she did now.
“That doesn’t mean we’re never supposed to acknowledge the people we love ever again,” he retorted.
“Oh, great,” Smikes moaned. “He’s talking about love. This is going nowhere fast.”
Yendor, more calmly than the others, leaned against the strut of the nearest starfighter and said, “You realize this Imperial woman of yours would kill us all, right?”
That did it. Thane got in Yendor’s face. “You don’t know Ciena. I do. I made a choice based on that knowledge. None of you were endangered, or even affected, so it’s none of your damned business.”
In the silence that followed, he backed away from Yendor, whose hands were raised in the gesture that meant, on every planet, Hey, man, simmer down. Thane figured the only productive thing he could do right then was report to 2-1B for the scans. But as he turned to go, Kendy spoke almost under her breath: “You’re going to tear yourself apart.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Thane said only, “She’s still Ciena,” and walked off.
Kendy would understand that, probably. Nobody else would. He didn’t care. It was his own business if he crossed the galaxy, or broke his heart, or steered his X-wing straight into the core of a star.
The rebel fleet’s new base was on an uninhabited planet so small and obscure it had no name, only the numerical designation 5251977. This world’s rotation moved slowly, meaning days and nights each lasted the equivalent of several weeks on most planets; for now, the Rebellion hid in the enduring darkness.
Thane’s first thought as he took his X-wing in to land was that they’d built a much larger hangar than usual this time. The scale of the structure reminded him more of Imperial facilities than the hasty makeshift setups the Rebel Alliance had to rely on. When he came in through the shield doors, however, he realized why the building was so enormous—it had to be. In the previous two months, the size of the rebel armada seemed to have doubled.
“What happened?” Thane asked, flight helmet under one arm, as Corona Squadron went to report in. He wondered if the Empire had destroyed another world or committed another atrocity so horrific that a huge swath of the galaxy had finally had enough.
Most of the others ignored him, but Yendor replied, “Usually they don’t bring the whole fleet together like this. A couple divisions stay separate, just in case, you know? Not anymore. Rumor has it something big is planned.”
“We have new recruits, as well,” the Contessa said, pointing to several nonregulation ships that stood around them. While these kinds of ships had always been a part of the fleet, there were definitely more than usual and more people milling around who had no uniforms, only Rebellion patches hastily applied to their coveralls. Even as the war grew more pitched and more deadly, recruits continued to flock to the rebel cause. If that kept up, Thane thought, they might actually have a shot. He could see several individual starfighters, a few Dornean gunships, and one freighter that seemed to have been put together out of the parts of at least a dozen other ships—
A broad smile spread across Thane’s face as he yelled, “The Mighty Oak Apocalypse!”
The rest of Corona Squadron turned to him with expressions suggesting that he had well and truly lost his mind. He didn’t care, because now people were spilling out of the ship to run toward him—Brill grinning through her pink fur, JJH2 rolling toward him and whistling, Methwat wearing his version of a smile, and behind the rest, roaring her welcome, Lohgarra.
“About time you guys showed up!” Thane said, laughing, as he submitted to a wooly Wookiee hug. Lohgarra growled plaintively, and Thane somehow resisted rolling his eyes. “I am not too thin.”
“We refitted the whole ship,” Brill said with pride. “New shields, new dampeners. She’s toting guns from more kinds of fighters than you can count on both hands. Or claws. Tentacles. Whatever you have.”
“Ready for action, huh?” Now that he’d had a moment to think about it, he wasn’t surprised Lohgarra and the Moa had joined the Rebellion at last. Still, there was something great about knowing that so many of the people he cared about now stood by his side. It took him back to the moment he’d chosen to join the Rebellion in the first place, and reminded him why when he needed that memory the most.
Aboard the Super Star Destroyer Executor, all officers and stormtroopers were expected to keep their combat skills honed. But the number of certifications required lessened at higher ranks. Now that Ciena had made commander, she no longer had to spend at least one hour a week practicing hand-to-hand combat. However, that just meant she spent more time on the few skills still remaining.
“I could live without using this thing ever again,” Ciena grumbled as she shouldered the practice flamethrower. “If we ever need this on the bridge, I’m guessing we’re already done for.”
“Ciena Ree complaining about regulations?” Berisse shook her head in amazement. “Hey, if you don’t want to do this, you’ve got days left to fulfill your regs. We should take advantage of being out in the middle of nowhere.” Technically, the ship was still in hyperspace on its way to the middle of nowhere, but Berisse’s point stood. Since they were being called on to do nothing but go to an uninhabited system and sit and wait, all junior officers had more free time than usual. “We could see if Nash and some of the other guys are free, head to one of the cantinas, let our hair down—”
“I’m staying here. If you want to go party, nobody’s stopping you.”
“Okay, okay. You’ve been in a mood for almost three weeks straight. Isn’t it time you snapped out of it?”
Berisse didn’t know the reasons for Ciena’s temper and no doubt had not guessed it was the shield behind which Ciena was hiding her wretchedness. Once Ciena had felt free to confide nearly everything in Berisse—and she longed to hear her advice now. Berisse was so practical, so matter-of-fact, that she’d listen to the whole story without blinking and probably come up with the perfect words to help Ciena cope.
But that was the rub: probably.
Berisse could be irreverent and wasn’t above bending a regulation for practicality’s sake, but Ciena had never doubted her friend’s fundamental loyalty to the Empire. If Ciena spoke about the injustice of the verdict against her mother, Berisse might sympathize; on the other hand, she might well report the conversation to Ronnadam.
Of course, Ciena couldn’t admit the truth about Thane to anyone. That heartbreak was one she had to carry alone. Still, carrying that weight would have felt less terrible if she could have shared the rest with someone.
Instead, she was forced to admit that she had not one friend in the entire world she could entirely trust.
“Let’s just torch some junk, okay?” Ciena pulled on the flametrooper mask and readied the controls. Berisse, obviously knowing better than to interrupt, began the holographic part of the simulator. Attackers made of shadowy green light began running toward them, and Ciena pulled the trigger.
Explosive fire shot out, incinerating her enemies. Again. Then again. She had never relished combat duty—flying was her joy and her passion—but today Ciena poured all her bottled-up sorrow and fury into every blast. When the first simulation ended, she immediately signaled for Berisse to start another, then another. The featureless green holograms simply vanished when they took a fatal hit; Ciena found herself wishing the programming were more honest and graphic. She wanted to see her kills for once.
“I am really glad we don’t room together anymore,” Berisse muttered when the final holo faded. “Because I do not want to be the next person you’re mad at.”
“You’re right. You don’t.” Ciena slid up her face mask and wiped her wrist across her forehead. Even though she’d remained in firing position the entire time and the flamethrower wasn’t unbearably heavy, exhaustion already racked her body. Sleep had been elusive since her return to the Executor.
Despite her weariness, she might have gone for another round had she not felt the subtle shift in the vibration beneath their feet. “We’ve left hyperspace,” she said to Berisse.
“Never ceases to amaze me how you can feel that.” Berisse sighed. “So much for free time, huh?”
Even sitting out in the middle of nowhere—namely, the Hudalla system, notable only for its largest, massively ringed planet—required everyone back at duty stations. Ciena was relieved. Nothing helped but keeping busy.
As the two of them walked out of their simulation room, however, Ciena glanced through the triangular windows into space beyond. What she saw stopped her where she stood. Instead of the planet Hudalla or the void of space, the view showed countless Imperial ships. Star Destroyers, attack cruises, light cruisers, almost as many TIE fighters as stars—
“What the hell?” Berisse said. “Did we get called back to Coruscant instead?”
Ciena shook her head. Only captains, admirals, and Lord Vader himself knew plans very far in advance, so she couldn’t say exactly why the Hudalla system had suddenly become a meeting spot for nearly the entire Imperial Starfleet.
But she only had to look at the assembled ships to know: whatever was happening was important—and would affect them all.
Corona Squadron had received their next intelligence mission only ten hours after reaching 5251977. For the first time, they had received their orders not from Rieekan but from Admiral Ackbar of the Mon Calamari.
“Remote sensors detected an unusual level of Imperial activity in the Hudalla system,” he had said, pacing in front of them. Ackbar was an imposing man—taller than any human and with protruding, wizened eyes—so the entire squadron remained far more rigid and silent than usual. “Nothing in that area should be of interest to the Empire or to anyone else. Why then is the Empire establishing a presence there? Corona Squadron, you will go to Hudalla. Observe the Imperial ships and obtain as much data as possible.”
They were supposed to stroll into an isolated system and take readings on the Imperial Starfleet, then get out alive? Thane wasn’t sure whether Ackbar was a deluded optimist or someone who didn’t mind putting lives at risk for uncertain gain.
Then Ackbar had dismissed them by saying, “May the Force be with you.” So. Deluded.
As Thane checked the sensors on his X-wing’s panel, he gave thanks for Hudalla’s enormous ring. The gas giant swirled in shades of red and violet, but the most notable aspect of this world was its planetary rings, which were some of the largest in the galaxy. Those rings
comprised several million pieces of debris, most of them smaller than the average asteroid—
—and yet just large enough to hide a ship behind.
Like every other member of Corona Squadron, he’d tethered his ship to one of the larger rocks on Hudalla’s outer ring. Their X-wings floated through the gradual rotation of the countless pieces of debris in the field, the soft violet glow of that system’s distant star casting strange shadows. The slow orbit of the ring had allowed them to take their positions far enough away to avoid detection. Now they were within scanning distance and could take all the readings and holos they needed, and they didn’t even have to worry about being scanned in return. With their ships running on minimum power and well concealed by the ring’s debris, there was almost no chance of their being spotted.
Almost. Thane hated that word. He knew how thorough Imperial officers were trained to be. Still, the odds were on their side for a change. He’d take it.
“This is almost as large as the attack fleet they sent to Hoth,” Yendor said, his voice crackling over the comms. “Do you think they got some bad intel telling them we put a base on one of Hudalla’s moons?”
Thane answered, “If so, you’d think they would’ve figured out the mistake by now. But they’ve been here for days, with more ships coming in all the time.”
What were they up to? Thane kept trying to come up with an answer and failing. If a new hyperlane had been discovered in this area of space, their sensors would have detected it by now. If the Empire were planning an attack, it wouldn’t need this much time to assemble. No critical elements could be mined from any of the planets or moons in this system. The mystery seemed complete.
He’d asked for the job of tallying single starfighters—an enormously detailed and irritating task, so the squadron had been happy enough to let Thane handle it. The work kept him too occupied to think much about the odds of Ciena being part of a fleet that large or to find out which specific Star Destroyers had gathered there.
