Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Lost Stars (20 page)

—and happy to keep thinking about Thane.

That was the time to think of him, though. No duty, no distractions,
only the memory of the extraordinary holo-message from a few days before. Ciena smiled to herself as she thought of the way
they’d said so much in so few words. Thane had agreed with her about sticking to their duty, concentrating on fighting the war to the best of their ability, and finding ways to be together
again as often as their service would allow.

She fell asleep amid a vision
that was half hope, half dream—Thane transferred to the
Devastator
as a TIE pilot, flying alongside Lord Vader himself, coming back to her at the end
of every shift. That dream suffused her entire night, which was one reason why the news the next morning came as such a wretched shock.

“There has to be a mistake,” Ciena said, staring at Nash. “You got the names wrong.”

“I was his roommate
for three years. Trust me, I know his name.” Nash even turned the tablet around so she could see for herself. They stood outside the commissary; nobody was around
to overhear except a few groggy pilots staggering in to get their breakfast and caf. “Lieutenant Thane Kyrell, designation A-V-five-four-seven, deserted duty as of three Kerev Doi days
ago.”

She clutched at the sleeve of Nash’s
uniform. “He wouldn’t desert. His ship crashed—or he’s been taken prisoner by some local roughs, something like
that.”

“You’d think his superiors would have checked that out. But perhaps you’re right. It’s not like Thane to run.” Nash stepped closer to her, lowered his voice.
“I didn’t tell you this to frighten you. One of the ISB officers questioned me this morning about Thane’s loyalties,
political beliefs, all the rest. I was able to assure them
that Thane is no rebel, but I can tell they’re not satisfied.”

Ciena understood now. They would question her next.

So she walked straight to the office of the senior ISB officer aboard, Captain Ronnadam, and had herself announced. She stood in front of him at attention as she said, “I’ve come to
volunteer what information I
have about Lieutenant Kyrell, sir.”

“Our vagabond on Kerev Doi. Or once on Kerev Doi.” Ronnadam squinted at her. “Do you think he’s a traitor or merely a deserter?”

“He is no traitor,” she answered with as much force as she dared. It was important that the general understand they were on the same side—all three of them.
“Thane—Lieutenant Kyrell has repeatedly described the rebels as
terrorists, sir. In our last communication, he expressed his deep sorrow and anguish about the destruction of the Death
Star.”

“Then why, Lieutenant Commander Ree, has he abandoned his post?”

“I can only think that he is—in despair, sir. Overcome by the loss of so many friends.” Ciena hesitated before continuing. This came close to betraying Thane’s secrets,
and she had almost done
that once before, when she’d mentioned his problems with his father in front of Jude. But she needed to save Thane and his commission now, any way she could.
“Lieutenant Kyrell grew up in extremely difficult circumstances. His family provides no support whatsoever. So his fellow officers—
we’re
his family. All he has. That loss
has affected him profoundly.”

“He’s not the only one who lost
people,” Ronnadam snapped, but then his expression grew more thoughtful. “And he’s not the only officer we’ve seen falter. The
same offenses that would have gotten a man cashiered two years ago are now handled on a case-by-case basis…for now. There will of course be a penalty to be paid, but if Lieutenant Kyrell
returns to duty in short order, he can continue his career without undue difficulty.”

Ciena breathed out in relief. At least there was still time to save Thane from a terrible mistake.

“Do you know where he is, Lieutenant Commander Ree? If so, you realize you must report that information.”

“No, sir. I don’t have Lieutenant Kyrell’s current location. But I know where to begin looking for information: our homeworld, Jelucan.”

“Very well, Lieutenant Commander. I’ll
put through orders for you to travel to Jelucan on the next transport.”

Her eyes widened. “Me, sir?”

Ronnadam snapped, “Do you think such duty is beneath you?”

“No, sir! I simply thought—an ISB officer—”

“Our agents are busier now than at any other time in our history. You’re already familiar with the area, so sending you instead is a better use of resources.” His voice had
acquired
a dangerous edge. “Unless, of course, you have superior ideas?”

Ciena was almost glad for the misunderstanding; better if Ronnadam didn’t realize how badly she wanted to be the one to find Thane. “No, sir. I’ll leave for Jelucan
immediately.”

“Search for him high and low. Use whatever resources you must.” Ronnadam’s eyes narrowed. “And if you hear so much as one whisper of Kyrell’s involvement
with the
Rebellion—you will follow that whisper wherever it leads and report every word. Do you understand?”

Ciena had a chance to rescue Thane because the Empire wanted to use her as a spy. She’d never wanted to inform on anyone, for any reason. Duty demanded loyalty, but loyalty was owed to
friends as well as superiors. For the first time she realized how dark the tasks that fell to
her in this war might be.

But that was the price of finding Thane again.

“Yes, sir,” she said, thinking,
Whatever it takes.

I
T WAS THE FOURTH and final freighter haul that got to Thane.

He’d kept his head down, remained quiet, and made it off Kerev Doi easily enough. The ships
he had boarded for the next few trips gave him no trouble, either. On a passenger ship, he
would’ve had little privacy and an overly interested crew to deal with. On a freighter, however, the few extra berths were sold to workers who wanted cheap transport and no frills. Thane
didn’t have to worry about being noticed there.

But when the last freighter came out of hyperspace near Jelucan,
Thane grabbed his bag and headed for the disembarkation area. Long metal benches bolted to the walls had a few harnesses for
those worried about a bumpy ride down; he strapped himself in and waited. Another passenger did the same—then another—and a fourth.

None of these people behaved markedly different than Thane himself. They wore the sort of nondescript clothing that could be purchased
on almost any world. They showed no undue interest in the
people around them.

And yet any one of them could be an Imperial spy.

The idea latched on to Thane so hard he could scarcely breathe. The woman with the long salt-and-pepper braid—had she just glanced at his face? The Ottegan, with his wide-set
eyes—who knew what he might be observing? Or the Volpai there, with all the fingers
on all four of his hands tapping at his data feed—was he reporting Thane to the authorities even
now?

Everywhere else, Thane had known he possessed the advantage of surprise. There was no way for the Empire to predict his earlier moves, but they might have guessed he’d return to Jelucan.
So someone could have traced him to that freighter. Or an entire platoon of stormtroopers might be
waiting for him in the landing bay—

Instead, the freighter landed without incident. The other four passengers dispersed without even looking at Thane. He laughed at his paranoia as he shouldered his bag.
You’re on
familiar ground now. Soon you’ll feel like yourself again
.

Yet he didn’t.

At first Thane believed he was only suffering from reverse culture shock, the strangeness of home
after a long time away. Valentia, the grand city he’d admired as a boy—of course it
would look small and provincial after he’d spent three years on Coruscant. If people seemed guarded and less friendly, probably that was because he was contrasting their reactions to the
small boy he’d been with the more reserved reception they’d give an adult. And he was still on edge. His unease deepened
the shadows.

But the longer he looked around, the more certain he was. His world had changed. The Empire had changed it.

The senatorial building everyone had been so proud of on the day Jelucan joined the Empire—that had been taken over by the military to sequester troops. Thane kept his distance, but he
could tell that it was no short-term emergency measure. Already engineers were constructing
a high surrounding wall, and the perimeter force field overhead glinted when sunlight broke through the
gray sky.

Valentia might never have approached Coruscant’s polish and sophistication, but it had been a vibrant, bustling city. Now the entire place seemed more crowded and emptier at the same time.
Ramshackle, makeshift shanties had been built next to the older, stone-carved buildings;
these clearly served as housing for itinerant workers, who had come out of the mountains looking for new
opportunities that never materialized.

Or had these people been forced out? Thane wasn’t sure. He could tell from the clothes they wore that both valley kindred and second-wavers were among the new vagabond population. Yet the
two groups were harder to tell apart than they’d been before.
Both the brilliant silks and plain homespun cloth had begun to be replaced by cheap mass-produced garments. A dense, stultifying
sameness had settled over the land.

Even the entertainment was affected. Thane’s rented room stood on the higher floor of a building that also housed a cantina at ground level. When he was a boy, his father had sometimes
taken him into such establishments, promising
to have “just one drink.” So Thane had spent many long hours sitting in a far corner watching podraces or the spice-world holos he enjoyed
so much.

The cantinas were rougher now—less neighborhood pub, more seedy bar. Most of the patrons were not local characters; outworlders seemed to have crowded them out. As Thane nursed his ale, he
stared at the screens in disbelief. Every single program
was Imperial propaganda of some kind or another: a documentary ostensibly about the Empire’s successful “building
programs” on Thurhanna Minor (really enormous power facilities that squatted over once-pretty countryside) was broken up by recruiting calls for stormtroopers (“Discover adventure and
serve your Empire!”) or news items about Emperor Palpatine receiving guests as he smiled and
nodded. Worst of all was an ad for a special report scheduled to air soon, in which the
“full extent of the treasonous acts of sedition on the planet Alderaan will finally be exposed!”

Thane had thought everyone would be talking about Alderaan. No one did. The silence about an entire Core World planet’s destruction told Thane more than any gossip would have.
Everyone
is thinking about
it. Everyone is afraid.
If the Empire would destroy a world as important and prosperous as Alderaan…no place in the galaxy was safe.

(The Imperial broadcasts were vague about the Death Star’s destruction, speaking only of an “unprecedented attack by the Rebel Alliance.” Thane had first thought the Empire
would play it up as a rebel atrocity, but then he realized that it was more important
for the populace to believe that the Empire could destroy another world at any moment.)

When he walked outside, he was disturbed even by the color of the sky. Jelucan’s atmosphere usually showed itself as more gray than blue, but the air had always been clear and sparkling,
and the gray overhead had the sheen of a fine mineral. Now the skies were darker even when they were cloudless, as
if expecting a storm that never came. Had the mining begun to affect the
atmosphere?

Thane had argued with himself about whether or not to contact his family when he arrived. Little as his father cared for him and as much as his mother wanted to curry favor with the Empire, he
couldn’t believe they’d actually turn him in. Even if they wouldn’t have protected him, they wouldn’t have wanted
to endure the shame. At home he could have saved his
credits, taken his time, and waited for Ciena.

He could even have ridden his old line down to the Fortress, tidied it up, made it nice. It seemed so right to meet her there again—

In the end, though, Thane had decided against contacting his parents. He had no need for his father’s drunken contempt or his mother’s outrage; least of
all did he want to hear them
talking about how Dalven was doing.

(Given the severe shortage of Imperial troops, even an oaf like Dalven had probably received a promotion. He’d be fool enough to take pride in it, too.)

But as the days went on, his spirits sunk lower. Ciena still hadn’t appeared. What if she’d tried to desert but been captured? The thought of her in jail, feeling shamed
and
hopeless, sickened him. (He didn’t give in to despair; Ciena was too smart, too capable to be easily caught. She’d wait until the moment was right, but that moment might not come for a
while.) The scant funds Thane had managed to escape with had mostly gone to pay for his freighter trips. His rent on the tiny room already seemed like too much, and he was living on nothing but
street food—thin
slices of suspiciously sourced meat cooked on small makeshift grillers outside the shanties, or thin “stews” thickened with ground grain.