by Claudia Gray
It’s like they brought all these ships together just to show off, Thane thought sourly as he continued his calculations, adding in new pieces of data as his sensors provided it. Why show off in the middle of nowhere, without anybody around to see you? What could call for a display this ostentatious, a concentration of the Imperial firepower in a place where it could do no good?
Then his hands froze, allowing long scrolls of numbers to spill by. Thane cursed under his breath as he realized what this was.
The Empire displayed its power often, with a degree of theatricality he’d found absurd even when he’d been a part of it. But it never did so without reason. Most often a show of strength was meant to intimidate the people who lived under Imperial control, but sometimes officers and ships made a point of displaying their power to impress their superiors. The greater the number of men or ships put at a commander’s disposal, the more important that commander was.
This fleet had been assembled to prove someone’s importance. Only one person in the galaxy would merit this much attention, firepower, and awe.
He whispered, “The Emperor.”
CIENA HAD NOT regularly flown TIE fighters during the past couple of years, so when she received a summons to report to the main docking bay, she was both surprised and pleased. Maybe she needed to spend some time flying through the stars; then she might feel like herself again.
When she’d suited up in the black armor, Ciena walked into the bay with her helmet under one arm to see the other three pilots she’d be flying with—two strangers and Nash Windrider. He grinned like a boy when he recognized her. “What a delight to be flying with you again, Commander Ree. I hadn’t thought you would still lower yourself to serving alongside the likes of us.”
“Hush.” She risked a smile; Nash seemed to be teasing her as a friend, not as a would-be lover. The sooner they skated past that, the better. “You know, I’ve always wondered how you manage to pilot TIEs at all. How do you fit?”
“I’ll have you know that I am fully one centimeter below the maximum height for TIE pilots. TIEs are more cramped than a warship, I admit, but what isn’t? You, on the other hand, are far more compact and should fold up nicely.”
“I’m not that short!” No matter how many times Ciena protested about this, nobody ever seemed to believe her, or their own eyes.
Nash opened his mouth for his next jab, then straightened as Admiral Piett strode toward them. They all came to attention, helmets facing out.
Piett didn’t bother with preamble. “Scans have picked up some strange readings on the outer edge of Hudalla’s ring, including life forms. Possibly it’s no more than metal ores and mynocks. However, if we have some spies lurking out there—well. You know what to do.”
“Aye, sir,” they said in unison. Everyone saluted and turned on the beat, ready to board their ships. But Piett said, “Ree, I need to have a word with you.”
She turned back, again at attention. Why would Piett need to speak with her specifically? Her imagination conjured visions of psychological interrogations; they whispered that the questioners could sense the moment anyone began to turn traitor. Had they picked up on her doubt?
Instead, Piett said, “You have an additional assignment on this flight.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Those aren’t mynocks in the planetary ring. They’re almost certainly rebel spies.”
Ciena nodded, hiding her consternation. It made no sense for him to give her this intel and conceal it from Nash and the other TIE pilots. “We’ll take care of it, sir.”
Piett held up one warning finger. “One of the rebels must escape. You’re to see to it that at least one of the pilots manages to make it to hyperspace. Beyond that, it’s irrelevant whether the rest live or die.”
She was confused for a moment, but then she understood. Senior fleet command wanted the Rebel Alliance to know that a large portion of the Imperial Starfleet was assembling. Why, Ciena couldn’t yet guess. It didn’t matter. She’d been entrusted with a difficult and demanding task—and a secret one. That meant her superiors didn’t doubt her; if anything, they held her in higher esteem than ever.
All she’d had to do was deny her mother’s innocence.
Ciena tried to cast that thought from her head. “Consider it handled, Admiral Piett.”
He nodded, dismissing her, and she headed to her ship. Climbing into the pilot’s seat came as a relief. She didn’t have to think about her mother any longer; she wouldn’t be haunted by her growing doubts about the Empire. Sensors needed to be checked, the hatch sealed, weapons readied. Soon she could fly and forget all her troubles in doing what she did best.
Nash’s voice came over the comm. “Prepared for takeoff, L-P-Eight-Eight-Eight?”
Ciena lowered the black helmet over her head. Now she had no face, no identity. Now nothing remained of her but her duty to the Empire. “Ready.”
Among the many problems with flying on minimum power: heat inside the cabin dropped severely—not enough to endanger anyone’s life but enough to be extremely uncomfortable. Thane’s breath had begun to make small frost crystals on the edge of his helmet’s visor.
As if he could read Thane’s mind, Smikes said over comms, “We should’ve worn winter uniforms for this trip.”
“Affirmative, Corona Three,” Yendor replied. “I could do with my old Hoth parka right around now.”
The Contessa added, “And I miss my fur coats. But hold steady. In about an hour, we’ll orbit far enough from the Imperial convoy to slip out of here.”
“Holding steady, Corona Leader,” Thane said. He had not yet shared his theory about the Emperor with the rest of Corona Squadron; if true, it was information too sensitive for any open comm channel. And after only a few minutes’ consideration, he felt positive his hunch was right. Yet knowing that these ships had been massed to form a convoy for the Emperor raised another host of questions. It had been many years since Palpatine was last seen off Coruscant. What would draw him away from the seat of galactic power—and where was he going?
And if this many ships had massed in one place, that meant elsewhere in the galaxy, the Imperial fleet might be stretched thin. Widely dispersed, at any rate. Thane’s adrenaline spiked as he realized the Empire’s useless show of strength here might have created weaknesses elsewhere. Weaknesses the Rebellion could turn to its advantage…
His sensors began to flash, and he swore. “We’ve got TIE fighters incoming. I count four.”
“Any chance it’s a random patrol?” Kendy asked.
Possible. But not probable. The TIE fighters came closer every second.
Thane said, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Do you see what I see?” Nash sounded delighted, as if they were headed toward a party instead of into combat.
Ciena bit her lower lip as she studied her readings. “I read five ships, probably starfighters. So far I can’t ID ship models, but I’d guess we’re looking at X-wings or Y-wings.” While a handful of those starfighters remained in civilian hands, by now X-wings and Y-wings were used almost solely by the Rebel Alliance. Piett’s intel had been correct; the TIE patrol would move into attack mode at any moment.
Out of five ships, she needed at least one survivor.
That would be most easily accomplished by having five survivors and avoiding combat altogether. Nash and the other pilots were too smart to mistake what they were seeing for something else, which meant if she wanted to avoid a dogfight, her best bet was to flush out the rebels in time for them to escape.
She said, “If I break up one of the larger asteroids in the planetary ring, we could get better readings.”
One of the other pilots objected. “Then they’ll know we’re here!”
“Ten to one they know it by now. Their sensors are nearly as advanced as ours.” Ciena put her black-gloved hands on the controls, feeling the red trigger button under her thumb.
“It’s a bad idea,” Nash said. “We don’t need furthe
r readings, and at this distance, they’d have time to make the jump into hyperspace before we could engage them.”
So much for that plan.
Now at least one of the rebel ships—and possibly four of them—would have to be destroyed, all for the sake of some tactical masquerade. They might well lose a TIE fighter in the process.
More useless death. More futility. More waste.
The TIE fighters were unquestionably zeroing in on their location. Combat seemed certain.
The Contessa ordered, “All wings, disengage tethers and return to full power.”
“Don’t think we can escape from this position, Corona Leader,” Yendor said, even as sensors showed him complying.
“We can’t. They’re coming in for a fight.” Thane pressed the controls that brought his ship back to full life, the cockpit lighting up in red and gold. “Weapons ready?”
Yendor reported in first. “Corona Two ready.”
“Corona Three ready,” Smikes confirmed.
“Corona Four ready.” Thane kept his eyes on the sensors as he spoke, in case the TIEs accelerated into attack mode.
And Kendy finished, “Corona Five ready.”
Thane braced himself as the Contessa said, “All we have now is the element of surprise. Let’s take the fight to them.”
Ciena had expected the rebel starfighters to remain hidden as long as they possibly could in hope of avoiding detection—which was why she was astonished when five X-wings burst out of the planetary ring and headed straight for the TIE fighters.
“Evasive action!” she shouted, swinging her TIE around to avoid their main weapons range. The rebels had them outnumbered—no doubt by Piett’s design. That imbalance would give one or more of the rebel ships a good chance to escape. She couldn’t stand the unfairness of asking TIE pilots to risk their lives in an attempt to kill people the Empire wanted to keep alive.
How could she possibly delay a dogfight on the verge of happening this second?
Ciena adjusted her comms until she hit broadcast mode—a multifrequency signal that would supersede all others in the area, projecting her voice into every ship close enough to hear, including those X-wings. “Unidentified vessels,” she said. “You are not authorized to fly in this sector. Please report your ship’s identification codes and the system under which you are licensed or you will be taken into custody. Resist and you will be destroyed.”
She could imagine Nash’s consternation, but she hadn’t violated protocol. Instead she had followed the procedure for unknown vessels, usually small-time smugglers or pleasure cruisers gone astray. If the rebels had the good sense to lie, the dogfight might be stalled for a minute or two, long enough for them to get away.
Except Nash was already bringing his TIE Interceptor up and around to cut off their most likely escape route, and her plan was ruined.
Damn, Ciena thought—before another voice came over the comms and turned her anger into horror.
Thane said, “This galaxy isn’t big enough.”
Maybe Ciena was right. Maybe the Force was bringing them together, over and over.
If so, Thane decided, the Force had a sick sense of humor.
He had no idea how Ciena would answer—whether she’d stick to official procedure or she’d speak to him as a human, the way he’d spoken to her. When the comm unit crackled, he tensed, but the familiar voice coming through wasn’t Ciena’s.
“Thane Kyrell?” Nash Windrider’s incredulity came through loud and clear. “You’re alive?”
“Hello, old friend.” Thane refused to let himself be overwhelmed. Ciena was right there—in one of those TIE fighters soaring toward him—and Nash was there, too, and this was the last fight he ever wanted to be in. Kendy had to be beside herself, but unlike the rest of them, she had the good sense to keep her mouth shut.
But Ciena surely felt the same way. Nash would, too. Maybe this confusion would buy Corona Squadron the time they needed to get away.
Thane’s viewfinder blurred with movement, and his eyes widened as he realized someone had just accelerated a TIE fighter to top speed.
“I thought you were dead,” Nash said, each word lower and more ragged. “You would have been better off that way.”
So much for the reunion.
One of the rebels gets to live.
Ciena seized on to that fact like a towline that could take her to safety. Saving Thane’s life didn’t violate her duty; it was her duty. One of the rebels had to make it out of there, and she intended to use everything she had to make sure he was the survivor.
But that meant she had to stop Nash, without his realizing it.
Nash had violated protocol by initiating battle without her order, but no one would reprimand him for targeting rebel ships at any time, in any way. Already the other two TIEs had accelerated to swoop in right on his tail. Ciena threw her own TIE into maximum speed and set her course.
If I come in from above, it will look like I’m triangulating our weapons. If I choose the right angle, though, I can get in Nash’s way and stop his fire.
It didn’t occur to Ciena to worry about Thane getting blasted before she had a chance to intervene. In a dogfight, superior piloting kept you alive—and nobody could ever outfly him. Nobody besides her…
The engine’s roar filled the cockpit, even penetrating her thick black helmet. Ciena soared up high enough that the viewfinder showed her the X-wings and the debris of the planetary ring as so much glowing confetti on-screen—but as she dived down toward them, the shapes took form again. All the X-wings were now in full evasive action, but one of them moved with more agility, executing a perfect spin that threaded through the outer edge of the ring. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Her job was clear now that she knew which ship belonged to Thane.
But Nash had to know it, too.
Thane wove his way through the planetary ring, trusting in the asteroids to take a few of the blasts for him. “Incoming from vector eight-one-two-eight—” Smikes sounded desperate. “Heavy fire!
A green blaster bolt shattered a rock so close to Thane’s X-wing that some of the debris sprayed the cockpit; for one instant, he imagined it shattering, exposing him to the fatal vacuum of space. It held.
“Everyone move to preestablished hyperdrive coordinates!” the Contessa ordered.
Thane added, “Forget formations, get there however you can!” Formation flying sometimes provided protection—but in a situation like this, scattering would give them a chance to get at least a couple of people to safety.
Green blaster fire surrounded him, and he felt the telltale jolt that meant he’d been hit. Thane held his breath for the seconds it took to see the control panels holding steady—noncritical damage. The next time he probably wouldn’t be as lucky.
“Rebel scum,” Nash snarled. “I can’t believe you’d ever stoop so low.”
“I can’t believe you’re still with the Empire,” Thane retorted. “They destroyed your planet, Nash! They killed your entire family! How can you—”
“Never speak of Alderaan to me!” By now Nash’s fury had driven his voice halfway to a scream. “Never!”
On Thane’s viewscreen he saw the other members of Corona Squadron locked in battle with two of the TIE fighters—but they had the Imperials well outnumbered because two of the TIEs were only coming after Thane. He must have been wrongly identified as the leader.
Which one of the green blurs on his screen was Ciena’s ship? Would he kill her or see someone else do it in front of his eyes? Or maybe this was the day she would finally choose the Empire over him by taking his life.
Then a TIE fighter came down from above, so close Thane saw it through the cockpit as clearly as through his targeting device—flying between him and Nash.
The knowledge hit him so hard his chest hurt: Ciena was trying to save him.
“Get out of my way!” Nash shouted at Ciena.
“I don’t take orders from you, Lieutenant.” She fired in the general direc
tion of Thane’s ship but fired to miss.
On her screen she saw one of the TIE fighters vanish—another pilot lost for no reason—and then the quick blur that indicated at least two of the rebel ships had leaped into hyperspace. Then one of the X-wings vanished as well; the Empire had its first kill of the battle.
Thane would be heading directly to the coordinates where the first X-wings had gone into hyperspace. Ciena quickly shifted trajectory again, into a believable angle for attack but one that yet again would interfere with Nash’s targeting. She was between them again, shielding Thane with her own ship.
Nash fired anyway.
He didn’t hit her—but the bolts came close enough to set off every warning signal. The lights in her cockpit flashed red. Ciena swore.
Was Nash angry enough at Thane to kill him even if he had to go through Ciena first?
Thane saw the opportunity Ciena had given him and took it. At full power he sped toward the coordinates—saw the last of the other X-wings shudder into hyperspace just in front of him—and prepared for the jump to lightspeed.
He yearned to say something to Ciena before he left. Anything. She needed to know that he realized what she had done for him, and what it meant.
But saying anything would only expose her to Nash and the other TIE pilot. Ciena had protected him; it was his turn to protect her by remaining silent.
Bolts raked his X-wing, and this time he’d taken damage—but not to life support or hyperdrive, so to hell with it. Thane set coordinates, put his hand on the control, and went for it.
The stars elongated into an infinite tunnel as he sped away, leaving Ciena behind.
Thane allowed himself a few moments of silence afterward before checking in with Corona Squadron. “Corona Four reporting in. How are we doing?”
“Confirmed, Corona Four,” the Contessa answered, her voice heavy. “We lost Smikes.”
Smikes—wary, pessimistic, and yet so courageous. Thane realized he had never made it clear how much he admired the man despite his curmudgeonly demeanor; now he would never have the chance.
