Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Lost Stars (30 page)

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.

T
HANE 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.