Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Lost Stars (47 page)

But Thane was unconvinced. “You have useful talents. That’s one of the things
the New Republic is going to start looking for, sooner rather than later. Plus you have friends in high
places—or I do, anyway, and I intend to have a long talk with every single one who could help you.”

“I don’t want you to ask for special treatment on my behalf,” she protested.

“Too bad,” he said. “Because the deck is always stacked, Ciena. All we can do is stack it in our favor.”

Ciena remembered the first time they’d had this out. They’d been in a cantina in Valentia, the fates dividing them as never before, and they’d argued and pleaded until
they’d finally broken down and made love. It felt like another lifetime—lying next to him, pulling him close—yet it felt like yesterday. She could never forget how she’d
felt about Thane that day, and she never wanted to.

“So here we are again,” she said with a rueful smile. “Debating order versus chaos.”

“Maybe fate will finally settle the question for us. If you’re right, then, yeah, you have some rough years ahead. But if I’m right—and the New Republic chooses freedom
over vengeance—you’ll be out of here in no time.” Even through the silver shimmer of the energy field, she could see the tenderness in
his eyes. “Either way, you know
I’ll be waiting for you, right?”

Ciena would have given anything to hold him then, even as she said, “You shouldn’t.”

“You would, if it were me inside that cell.”

“…yes. I would.”

Slowly she raised her hand, flattening her palm against the edge of the energy field. Thane did the same. They mirrored each other, almost touching but forever apart.

“In the month since the Battle of Jakku, the Empire has attempted no further large-scale offensives. Sources report all Imperial vessels within the Core and Inner Rim
staying within the boundaries defined by treaty.”
The woman in the news holo smiled as she continued,
“A few prominent members of the Provisional Senate have speculated that the
New Republic’s war with the remnants of the
Empire has finally come to an end and that a final surrender may be imminent. However, in her address today, the chancellor warned that all planets
should remain on high alert, and the New Republic Starfleet should be kept on a war footing for the foreseeable future. Here to discuss both sides of this issue are—”

Nash snapped off the rebel propaganda from the Hosnian system. He’d already
learned all he needed to know—namely, that the so-called New Republic believed the Empire beaten.
Fools.

Let them grow fat and lazy,
he thought.
Let them congratulate themselves. Let them go slack.

Commander Nash Windrider left his personal office and walked out into the main docking bay of his new ship, the attack cruiser
Garrote
. Every subordinate straightened at the sound of
Nash’s
boots on the metal floor; not one of them turned away from his or her work to so much as glance in Nash’s direction. Good. Already he’d managed to reestablish proper
discipline.

For someone who had spent years assigned to a Star Destroyer, an attack cruiser posting might have seemed like a step down—but the Empire had so few Star Destroyers left. He was flight
commander on a strategically
important vessel, which was a step toward eventually receiving his own command. Nash took pride in readying the
Garrote
for the next stage of the war, the next
assault.

The one the rebels wouldn’t see coming.

He strode between the long lines of TIE fighters, all of which were being refitted with stronger weapons of new design. These would be able to punch through energy shields and starfighter
hulls
with a single blast, which meant the one advantage starfighters had over TIEs—their shielding—would vanish. Changes like that could win the war.

Rather odious to think that Ved Foslo had invented these weapons. Nash had always assumed Ved’s rise through the ranks was solely due to his father’s interference, yet it turned out
his former roommate had some aptitude after all. No doubt
his adolescent arrogance had become completely insufferable in adulthood.

Nash sighed as he reminded himself that, of his two roommates at the academy, Ved Foslo was by far the least offensive.

To think that Thane Kyrell might have survived the war, might even be out there now smugly celebrating the Rebellion’s temporary advantage—it sickened him. Why should Ciena have died
while Thane
lived?

But you couldn’t look to the fates for justice. You had to take retribution into your own hands. The Empire had taught him that.

“Sir? Commander Windrider, sir?” Nash’s assistant had begun to follow on his heels, as usual. “A question, if I may?”

“You may, Lieutenant Kyrell.”

Dalven Kyrell stood before him, data tablet in his hands, visibly nervous. He had no idea of his
brother’s role in the Rebellion; Nash had elected to keep that truth from him and treat
this Kyrell as an individual. It seemed only fair. However, taken on his own merits, Dalven was weak and toadying, capable of no more than fulfilling the basic tasks he was given. Fortunately duty
required no more of the flight commander’s assistant. “I wanted to ask about the list of officers you nominated
for top commendations.”

Was Dalven going to ask why he wasn’t on it? If he did, Nash intended to tell him. “What is your question?”

“You nominated Captain Ciena Ree for the Distinguished Medal of Imperial Honor. I think you meant the more common Medal of Honor—”

“I know precisely what I meant, Lieutenant Kyrell.” Nash enjoyed speaking that surname with a slight sneer. “The Distinguished
Medal of Imperial Honor is the highest medal we
can bestow, and I can think of no one more deserving. To have remained aboard her ship when the autodestruct had failed—to personally crash it into the planet’s surface to keep the
vessel from enemy hands, at the cost of her own life—Captain Ciena Ree deserves to be remembered.”

“Yes, sir,” Dalven said weakly, but he continued, “I only meant—nominating
someone for that honor is a big step, one others might comment upon as a sign of
factionalism.”

“Usually, yes. In this case, however, I have it on good authority that a number of captains, generals, and admirals intend to nominate her, as well. Even Grand Moff Randd may do so. The
Empire endures its inner conflicts, but on this we all agree. The late Captain Ree died a hero.”

“Absolutely,”
Dalven hastened to add. “Such a terrible way to die.”

“Terrible? I would call it glorious. We all wish she were still with us, but that doesn’t change the fact that there is no finer fate than to die for the Empire. I hope I shall get
the chance myself someday.”

“Of course, sir. Yes, sir.” Dalven slunk away.

Thane had always said Dalven made fun of Ciena when they were children,
mocking her poverty and her old-fashioned ways—as if everyone on Jelucan weren’t a backwater bumpkin.
Sometimes when Nash remembered that and thought of Dalven ridiculing a young, helpless Ciena, he wanted to find an appropriate suicide mission for the man.

But he could no longer assume Thane had been telling the truth. Apparently, Thane Kyrell was a master deceiver.

Nash walked toward
the open mouth of the docking bay. Against his skin he felt the faint tingle of the energy shield that maintained atmospheric pressure—a sign he was standing too close.
He remained near the edge anyway, the better to behold the sight before him.

Within the massive cloud of the Queluhan Nebula, hidden deep inside the glowing trails of ionized gas that confounded enemy sensors, waited the
Imperial Starfleet. While the rebel pundits
confidently predicted the Empire’s disappearance and surrender—believed them divided against each other and helpless—they were instead rejoining forces and growing stronger than
before.

In Nash’s opinion, it had taken them too long to coalesce as a united front again; infighting had allowed the rebels to gain territory they could not have hoped
to contest otherwise. Now,
however, the Imperial Starfleet had reestablished a hierarchy of command. They had developed a long-term strategy. The old factionalism had been swept away, and at last they stood together, united
again.

He liked to think Ciena Ree had something to do with that. Perhaps that was only sentiment, but there was no denying that her selfless act had inspired them
all.

You reminded us what discipline truly means,
Nash thought.
You reminded us that no price is too great to pay for victory.

Before him, in the blue-and-violet glow of the nebula, he could see at least ten Star Destroyers and even more light cruisers. Each housed countless TIE fighters, to be manned largely by the new
conscripts; training had to be faster and harsher these days, but
the pilots were shaping up nicely. The Imperial Starfleet might not be as large as it had once been, but Nash thought they might
emerge even stronger.

And this time, they would stop at nothing until the Rebellion had been permanently crushed. Thane and the others would pay for forcing Ciena to sacrifice her own life. They’d pay for
everything.

Nash whispered, “You will be avenged—when
the Empire rises again.”

THE END

CLAUDIA GRAY
is the
New York Times
best-selling writer of numerous novels for young adults, including the science-fiction Firebird trilogy, beginning with
A Thousand
Pieces of You
, and the paranormal Evernight series. She has been a
Star Wars
fan since she turned seven, and she now insists that transforming her childhood closet into an X-wing
simulator was vital career preparation.