Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Lost Stars (33 page)

“You’re exhausted—it’s obvious,” he said, so harshly it seemed like a judgment. “I slept on the transport, so I’ve got a few hours in me.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s not a ritual thing, is it? If it were, your father would have said so. So why?”

She was tired enough to tell him the truth. “Because I don’t want to owe you anything.”

He laughed, not in humor but surprise. Thane hadn’t expected her to be this angry; obviously he’d had no idea she knew the truth about his involvement with the Rebel Alliance, though
he probably suspected it now.
But he seemed to be nearly as angry with her—despite the fact that the last time they’d seen each other they’d had to tear themselves apart.

“Look at it this way.” Thane spoke very quietly, and almost against her will Ciena looked up at him again. “I already owe you one, for faking my suicide instead of turning me
in. So if I keep the vigil tonight, we’ll be even. Nobody will owe anyone
anything. Okay?”

In her childhood, Ciena had read horrible stories of the cruel, barbarous punishments used in the old times, back before her people had ever left their original planet or knew that others lived
among the stars. She’d had nightmares about one in particular, where a person’s four limbs would be tied to four separate beasts, which would then be driven in opposite directions
until
the victim’s body was torn apart. That torture had haunted her, and she had given thanks that it could never happen to her.

Now it was happening, not to her body but to her soul.

She had sworn an oath of loyalty to the Empire, had made friends there who would be with her for a lifetime, and had served with distinction. Yet the shadows she had glimpsed long ago had
lengthened
and darkened—the useless deaths of so many pilots, the increasing pressure to put aside everything she had been, the corruption and devastation here on Jelucan. And, above all, she
could not forget Alderaan, a world destroyed in an effort to prevent a war, an effort that had utterly failed.

None of that divided her heart as brutally as simply being with Thane again. Not only had he abandoned
his duty—and her—but he had also joined the Rebellion. The people responsible
for Jude’s death and this wretched war. It was the most complete betrayal she could imagine.

But when everyone else had failed her, Thane had risked his life to stand by her side.

Ciena rose from the table. “Good night, Thane.” She didn’t thank him for keeping the vigil. She simply walked to her bedroom and
closed the door behind her without looking
back. In her exhaustion, she thought she would fall asleep instantly, but instead she lay awake for nearly an hour, listening for the faint sounds Thane made as he moved about the house. Ciena knew
he would not come to her, nor did she want him to, but she couldn’t stop wanting to hear him. To know where he was, and be sure he was near.

The next
morning, when Paron Ree rose, Thane excused himself for a quick nap. By that time he was tired enough to sleep despite the questions burning in his mind, the same ones
that had plagued him all night long.

Such as,
Why is Ciena furious with me?
He suspected she’d learned he had joined the Rebellion, which was bad news. Did that mean the Empire had a dossier on him? They couldn’t
unless
the Rebel Alliance had intelligence leaks of its own. Maybe Ciena had been punished for covering up his desertion; that, too, would explain why she seemed to find it difficult to look at
him.

Another:
Will I be able to rejoin my squadron when I return?
Thane had reported his upcoming absence to General Rieekan but had given no details and been given none in return. Probably
his relays
for the
Liberty
’s current coordinates would still be good when he left—but if the Rebellion got even a hint that the Empire might be coming after the ship, they would
move on. Then Thane would have to go through the laborious process of reconnecting with the Rebel Alliance from scratch: sounding out pilots in various spaceports, traveling to worlds known to be
sympathetic in hopes of hearing
the right whispers, and so on. It could be a lengthy process and would certainly be a dangerous one.

But the question truly tearing Thane apart was,
What am I doing here?

Thane had told himself Kendy was right—the Empire wanted not only its officers’ service but also their souls. Years of thought control and moral compromise would have worn away
everything he’d loved about Ciena, leaving
only one of Palpatine’s creations behind.

Then he’d seen the news report about Ciena’s mother. Instantly, he’d known Ciena would return to Jelucan. And just that quickly, he’d known he had to come back, too, and
face her one more time.

If the Empire had hollowed her out—left nothing behind but a cold, empty shell—then Thane could finally let go. If she’d still been the exact same girl
he remembered, then
Thane would have turned into the most zealous recruiter the Rebellion ever had.

Neither of those extremes had come to pass. He knew that much. But he could look no further into Ciena’s heart. She had become a mystery to him, one he didn’t know how to solve.

He rose from his nap in what he thought must be midmorning. It was hard to tell now that the pollution in the
air had become so thick. When he walked into the main room, Ciena lifted her head to
look at him. She sat on one of the floor cushions, in leggings and a white tunic; she hadn’t braided her hair, so the curls fluffed around her face like a cloud. That was how she’d worn
her hair the night they danced together at the Imperial Palace.

He’d been so sure that years of Imperial service would’ve
hardened her. Had tried to envision her only as a stiff, sharp-edged Imperial officer. Instead Ciena remained graceful,
gentle—even delicate, though Thane knew that was appearance rather than reality. He remembered the firmness of muscle along her limbs and her back, just as he remembered what it had felt like
to gaze into her dark brown eyes as she lay beneath him.…

Snap out of it,
he
told himself.

No “good morning” seemed to be forthcoming, so Thane didn’t offer one, either. “Where’s your father?”

“At work,” she said, motioning to some bread and cheese that must have been meant for his breakfast. “Pappa’s an administrator at the garrison. He doesn’t get time
off because his wife is in danger and his heart is broken. He can’t even be late.”

Was that anger with
the Empire he heard? Thane wanted to feel hopeful, but Ciena remained as still and unreadable as she’d been the night before. He helped himself to some bread and
managed to sit at the damnably short table. “What does the ritual require of us today?”

“Nothing much. Someone should be here constantly, watching the house—but since only one person stands with us, that rule doesn’t matter.” Ciena
hesitated, then added,
“I requested a meeting with the local magistrate yesterday, then again this morning. There’s been no reply. I don’t expect one.”

“You’re telling me we could leave, but we have no place to go.”

No response. Her gaze was fixed on the one round window in front, where his makeshift red flag flapped in the wind. The soot in the air would stain it dark, soon. He’d followed
Jelucan’s degeneration over the years, but that didn’t make it easier to witness firsthand. If only they could travel back in time to when they were kids, when their world still felt
like home and they understood each other without words…

Then he knew exactly what he wanted to do, exactly how he would know if she was still
his
Ciena.

He said, “Fly with me.”

She turned to look at
him. “You want to fly? Now? Today?”

“We can take the ridgecrawlers to my family’s hangar. I bet the old V-171’s still in there.”

“If your parents saw you—”

“I checked before I left the spaceport. They’re halfway across the planet on business. We’re clear.”

Ciena looked doubtful. “The V-171 might not be skyworthy any longer. It’s been a few years.”

“So we check her out. If she’s
broken down, okay, we’re done. But maybe she isn’t.”

Thane watched her struggle to find a reason to say no. Finally, she sighed. “Okay.”

He grabbed his dark blue jacket and cap with more dread than optimism. Ciena remained closed off to him, and Thane wasn’t sure things weren’t better that way. Yet they had rarely
been closer than when they were in the air together. That was where they
had taught each other, learned about each other, and explored their world as one. So that was where he’d finally see
whether they could still communicate at all.

The ride to the hangar provided more suspense than Thane had expected. While the trails to that area had been obscure years ago, they’d come into common use. Each time they passed another
ridgecrawler, his gut tightened. He half
expected each driver to be a stormtrooper who would draw a blaster at any moment. But nobody gave them a second glance; he and Ciena were just two more
figures climbing the mountain, shrouded in morning fog and gritty mining ash. Her ridgecrawler traveled in front of his. He felt like her shadow.

Whatever Dalven was up to these days, he wasn’t visiting home, or at least he hadn’t been by
the hangar in years. The doors had almost rusted shut, and when Thane and Ciena tugged
them open, clouds of dust swirled out and made them cough. Unsurprisingly, the V-171 was dusty, but when he hit the control panels, they lit up, glowing green.

He patted the side of the ship, absurdly proud. “All systems say go.”

“Then we go.” Ciena held out her hand for lizard-toad-snake before she
consciously recognized what she was doing—to judge by her sudden embarrassment. Thane simply held out his
hand as well. One, two, three: he went for toad, but she chose snake, and snake ate toad.

“You always were luckier with this than I was,” he muttered.

That won him a smile, fleeting but real. “Too bad, Kyrell.” She sounded like herself again. “You’re copilot today.”

The familiar
rhythms of preparation and takeoff came as a relief. They knew how to talk to each other again, and what to do. Within moments, the V-171 had hovered off the ground. As Ciena eased
them out of the hangar, he said, “Come on. Let’s grab some sky.”

“You got it.” And they soared up toward the sun.

They fell into sync immediately. Perfectly. Thane knew which way she’d want to turn before
she did it; Ciena responded to every move he made almost before he was finished. It shocked him
how much they hadn’t changed in this one way, even as the rest of their lives had been turned upside down. They still knew how to fly as one.

Several thousand meters up, the pollution thinned until they were surrounded by the same brightness he remembered from when they were children. The clouds
shone white; the rugged peaks of the
highest mountains rose through them, looking like islands in snow. Those altitudes couldn’t be mined; they remained pristine, untouched.

From here he could almost believe Jelucan was still beautiful.

Ciena wanted to linger in the sky as much as he did; Thane knew that without having to be told. Together they drew loops in the air, circled the familiar
mountain ranges, caught the upwinds that
still blew from Wavers’ Peak. When she tilted the wings to catch that drift, Thane had already begun to lean with her, and he laughed. “You love this.”

“So do you.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

This isn’t a truce. You’re still with the Rebellion; she’s still a loyal Imperial officer. We can never share anything more than a stolen hour,
one flight.

So Thane told himself. Yet he couldn’t make himself believe it.

Even when a storm began to blow in, they postponed coming down as long as they could. Once the winds picked up enough chop, though, they wordlessly agreed on the moment when the V-171 had to
descend. In the tiny craft, they could even feel the way each other’s weight shifted as they responded to the shear.

He still knew how she moved.

“Come on!” They were ten and Ciena wanted to weave through the stalactites for the first time. “We can do it!” He sent them spiraling down toward their goal, the
sudden dizziness sweeping over them both at the same moment and making them laugh.

Their speeder bikes were locked together as they soared through Coruscant, each of them leaning toward the other
as they aimed for the exact center of the final Reitgen Hoop, and
victory.

“Like this?” He could feel the warm breath of Ciena’s whisper against his bare shoulder. Too overcome to speak, Thane had only been able to nod.

They took the V-171 in before the rains began. Ciena powered down in silence; whatever rapport they’d regained in the air had disappeared. As they disembarked and left
the hangar, they
might have been any two coworkers in a commercial spaceport.

But Ciena didn’t return to her ridgecrawler. Instead she walked to the far edge of the hangar’s terrace, toward the narrow, rocky path that led away from the main road—toward
the Fortress. She paused for a moment to look over her shoulder, clearly daring Thane to follow.

He never could resist a dare.

Neither of them spoke until they had climbed inside the Fortress itself. When Ciena turned on one of the old lights they’d left up there, Thane looked around, blinking in surprise.
He’d expected a dusty ruin; instead, the surfaces were clean, the blankets beaten. A few of their toy spaceships still dangled from the wire mobile they’d built when they were nine. He
said, “This place held up well.”

“I came here yesterday,” she said. “My ship landed before my father could leave work, and Valentia—I couldn’t bear to stay there long. This was the only place I
wanted to be. It needed some cleaning, but less than you’d think.” Ciena turned to face him then, and in the approaching dark of the storm, he could not read her expression. “So
much had stayed the same.”

Thane took a step toward
her. “Ciena—”

“You joined the
Rebellion
.” The words burst out of her, like water after a dam broke. “How could you do that? They’re terrorists! They killed Jude!”