by Claudia Gray
Maybe after the ceremony she could.
When the speeches and music ended, the Kyrells had a private reception to attend with Very Important Officials, and they told Dalven to keep an eye on Thane. As they said the words, Thane silently estimated how long it would be before Dalven ditched him to go hang out with friends. Five minutes, he thought. Five or six.
For once, he’d overestimated Dalven, who’d abandoned his little brother after only three minutes.
But Thane could take care of himself. More important, he could get a lot closer to the Imperial hangar on his own.
Although most of the Imperial ships had already zoomed back to their Star Destroyers, or to one of the new facilities being built on the southern plateaus, a few remained in the Imperial hangar. The nearest was a Lambda-class shuttle, just like the one Thane was certain he’d seen in the sky earlier.
Sure, the signs said to stay back. But sometimes people assumed little kids couldn’t read signs. Thane figured he was still young enough to get away with that excuse if anybody caught him.
All he wanted to do was look at the ship up close—maybe touch it, just once.
So he crept around to the back of the raised stage erected for the day’s speeches, then ducked under it. Although Thane had to keep his head low, he could run beneath it all the way to the hangar itself. When he emerged, he smiled with pride, then saw to his disappointment that he wasn’t the only one who’d had that idea. Several other kids he knew from his school had gathered nearby, too—slightly older boys, ones he’d never liked—and one other, a skinny girl dressed in shabby clothes that marked her as someone from the valleys. Next to the brilliant crimson and gold of the boys’ robes, her brown dress reminded Thane of an autumn leaf about to fall.
“What are you doing here, valley scum?” said Mothar Drik, the grin on his broad face nastier than usual.
The awestruck smile faded from the girl’s face as she looked from the shuttlecraft toward her new tormentors. “I just wanted to see the ship. Same as you.”
Mothar made an obscene gesture. “Go back to your sty and slop out the dung. That’s where you belong.”
The girl didn’t budge. Instead she balled her hands into fists. “If I were slopping out dung, I’d have to start with you.”
Thane laughed out loud. A few of the other boys saw him, then. One of them said, “Hey, Thane. Going to help take out the trash?”
They meant that they were going to beat up the girl from the valleys. Six of them, one of her: Those were the kind of odds that only appealed to a bully.
Growing up with Oris Kyrell as a father had taught Thane many things. It had taught him how strictly and harshly rules could be enforced. Taught him that his brother responded to their father’s cruelty by being equally cruel to Thane, if not worse. Taught him that it didn’t matter who was really right or wrong—because the rules were set by whoever held the cane.
Above all, it had taught him to hate bullies.
“Yeah,” Thane said. “I’ll take out the trash.” With that, he charged straight at Mothar.
The idiot never saw it coming; his breath went out in a whuff of surprise as he landed on his back, hard. Thane got in a couple of punches before someone towed him off Mothar, and when he saw another of the boys reaching for his collar, he prepared for the inevitable fist to the face—but the skinny girl flung herself onto his attacker, pulling the boy’s arm back. “You let him go!” she yelled.
Two against six still wasn’t great odds, but the girl fought hard. Thane knew he did, too, mostly because, thanks to Dalven, he’d already learned how to take a hit and keep going. Still, the two of them were getting herded toward a corner, Thane already had a bloody lip, and this wasn’t going to end well—
“What’s going on here?”
Everyone froze. Only five meters away stood Grand Moff Tarkin, surrounded by Imperial officers and white-armored stormtroopers. At the sight of them, Mothar fled, his toadies at his heels. That left Thane and the girl standing there alone.
“Well?” Tarkin said, strolling closer. His face could have been etched in a quartz crystal, with its hard, pale lines.
The girl stepped forward. “It’s my fault,” she said. “The other boys were going to beat me up, and he tried to stop them.”
“Very silly of you,” Tarkin said to Thane. He seemed amused. “To fling yourself into a fight you would have lost? Never go up against superior forces, lad. It doesn’t end well.”
Thane thought fast. “It did today, because of you.”
Tarkin chuckled. “You realized an even stronger force would be along shortly, then? Excellent strategic thinking. Well done, my boy.”
They were off the hook now, but the girl from the valleys didn’t seem to know it. “I wasn’t supposed to be in the hangar,” she said, head bowed. “I broke a rule. But I didn’t mean to do anything dishonorable. I only wanted to see the ships.”
“Of course you did,” Tarkin said, leaning down a bit closer to them. “That tells me you’re curious about the galaxy beyond Jelucan. And you two stayed when the other children ran. That tells me you’re brave. Now I want to see if you’re intelligent. What kind of ship do we have here?”
“A Lambda-class shuttle!” they said in unison, then looked at each other. Slowly the girl began to smile, and Thane did, too.
“Very good.” Tarkin held out one hand toward the ship. “Would you like to look inside?”
Did he mean it? He did. Thane could hardly believe his luck as one of the stormtroopers opened the hatch for them. He and the girl ran inside, where everything was black and shiny and lit up with a hundred small lights. They were shown into the cockpit and even got to sit in the pilots’ seats. Grand Moff Tarkin stood just behind, rigid as a flagpole, his boots gleaming as brightly as the polished metal surrounding them.
“Show me the altitude control,” he said. They both pointed to it instantly. “Excellent. And the docking guide? You know that one as well. Yes, you’re both very bright. What are your names?”
“I’m Thane Kyrell.” He wondered if Grand Moff Tarkin would recognize his last name; his parents insisted that the Imperial authorities would know them well. But Tarkin’s face remained only vaguely curious.
The little girl said, “I’m Ciena Ree, sir.”
Sir. He should’ve thought to call Tarkin sir, too. At least Tarkin didn’t seem to mind. “Wouldn’t you like to serve the Emperor someday, and fly ships like these? Then you might become Captain Kyrell and Captain Ree. What would you think of that?”
Thane’s chest swelled with pride. “That would be the best thing ever. Sir.”
Tarkin laughed softly as he turned to one of the junior officers standing just behind him. “You see, Piett? We should never hesitate to use the lash, when necessary—but there are moments when the lure is even more effective.”
Thane had no idea what that meant, and he didn’t care, either. All he knew was that he could no longer imagine any fate more glorious than becoming an officer in the Imperial fleet. From the grin on Ciena’s face, he could tell she felt the same way.
She whispered, “We’ll have to study hard.”
“And practice flying.”
His answer made her face fall. “I don’t have any ships to practice with, and our only simulator is old.”
Of course they didn’t have good simulators in the valleys, and probably only one person in fifty of the valley kindred owned their own craft. Thane felt bad for a moment, until inspiration struck. “You can come practice with me, then.”
Ciena’s face lit up. “Really?”
“Sure.” Lots of maneuvers could only be performed with a copilot. He would need a partner if he wanted to learn to fly well enough to get into the Imperial Starfleet someday.
Besides, Thane could already tell—in spite of all their differences, he and Ciena Ree were going to be friends.
Five Years Later
THIRTY MINUTES remained until flying practice—hardly even enough time to
get to the hangar, by now. And Ciena still had to sit here on this stupid bench….
No, she thought. It’s not stupid. The Nierre family’s honor has been questioned. They need their friends to stand with them in their hour of trial. Even if it means missing flying practice.
But I would so much rather be flying.
The rough-hewn granite bench stood in front of the small domed house of the Nierre family, other kin of the valleys whose lands had bordered the Ree family’s for generations. In front of the bench lay a long trench filled with sand, which now had several flagpoles stuck in it, each flag representing a family that had declared its loyalty to the Nierres during this dark time. The tradition was an ancient one, going back to the first days of settlement on Jelucan, but it still had meaning. One member of every loyal family would remain with the Nierres, constantly, until the cloud of suspicion over their honor had been cleared.
Most of the valley kindred had brought a flag, but not all. Some few thought the father of the household was abusing his power as an Imperial communications monitor—reporting meetings and messages that were private. However, Ciena’s parents had declared that no one should even want to hide important information from the Empire and those who accused the Nierres were the ones without honor. Still, it was the Nierres who had been accused, and they had to bear the weight.
The family’s genes passed down blond hair and milk-white skin. Even so, their faces had gone paler, to the point where they all looked sick. If the formal complaint to the Imperial governor was upheld and a new monitor was named, the Nierres would share in that disgrace forever—a difficult threat to endure. So friends needed to stay close to them to provide what comfort they could.
I’d want someone to do that for me, if I were falsely accused, Ciena thought. But the Nierres would be even more comforted if my parents were here, like they said they would be a whole hour ago.
Her eyes searched the skies, as if she would already see the old V-171 soaring overhead. From the bench, Ciena could see farther down into the valley, all the way to the distant silvery gleam of water several thousand meters below. Surrounding her were countless snowy peaks, like white claws scratching at a stone-colored sky. Her dark blue cloak was heavy enough not to be disturbed by the winds, and it also disguised the fact that—instead of a traditional dress—she wore the oversize flight suit she’d managed to buy at a surplus store earlier that year.
Then she heard the distant whir of a ridgecrawler—the mountain-ready hovercraft Empire-backed merchants had introduced to the world five years before. Already Ciena could hardly remember how they’d managed without them; she still loved the old muunyak, but he was even slower these days. When the ridgecrawler rounded the bend, she wanted to leap up in delight. Finally!
But she remained on the bench, face solemn, until her father had stepped out and walked over to her. He was alone.
“Where’s Mumma?” Ciena said as she rose to her feet.
“Another late night at the mine.” Her father shook his head. “We knew her role as supervisor would require hard work, and I’m proud of her—but I miss her sometimes.”
“Me too.” And Ciena absolutely meant that, yet she couldn’t keep her eyes off the ridgecrawler. If Pappa would let her borrow it, she could still get to the hangar in time.
Her father saw her haste and pressed his lips together in a thin line that threatened to become a frown. “Flying again today?”
“Pappa, please. How else am I supposed to get into one of the Imperial academies?”
“You should practice, and often. Nothing would make your mother and me prouder than to see you become an Imperial officer.” Paron Ree paused. A few birds flew overhead, screeching their usual calls; Ciena watched them fly, because whenever her father brought up this next subject, she found it hard even to look at him. Sure enough, he continued, “We only wish you would practice more at the new simulators in Valentia, instead of spending all your time with that boy.”
“Thane’s my friend.” She stressed the last word.
“We shouldn’t take anything from second-wavers. We should rise by our own power, not because of their gifts.”
Sometimes Ciena flew into a rage at this point in the fight—but if she did that today, she definitely wouldn’t get to fly. So she took a deep breath before she continued: “I help Thane as much as he helps me. We work together. Neither of us owes the other anything, and he remembers that as well as I do.”
Her father sighed. “His kind have short memories. But go. Take the ridgecrawler; I’ll ride the muunyak home. Your mother and I will be back later, and you will have finished your lessons and cleaned the kitchen top to bottom.”
“Yes, sir.” Her spirits lifted. She’d fly today after all.
“Become a better pilot than this Kyrell boy,” said her father, as he straightened his robe and began to walk inside the Nierre home. “If there’s only one slot for a Jelucani cadet, I want it to be yours.”
Ciena laughed. “We’re both going. The Imperial Starfleet won’t be able to do without us!”
Even Pappa had to smile.
Thane wondered if he could manage to jar loose the restraining bolt on the CZ-1 tutor droid. If so, then the droid would let him go even if he hadn’t completed his stupid mathematics test.
“Your concentration is faltering,” said CZ-1. “This is not conducive to optimal performance.”
Thane pointed to the nearest chrono. “I’m late for flying practice.”
“You must complete your lessons in order to master the subject. How else will you gain admission to an Imperial academy? Your parents’ fondest hope is that you will follow in Dalven’s footsteps.”
Sometimes Thane believed CZ-1 was slier than a droid ought to be. Nothing made Thane fume like the knowledge that Dalven had, somehow, managed to get into one of the academies—one of the lesser ones, but still. Thane suspected his father might have bribed the local recruiter to admit his elder son to bolster the family pride. But Oris Kyrell wouldn’t exert himself like that for Thane, who would have to get into the academy on his own.
So he thought fast. “I won’t gain admission to an Imperial academy if I can’t fly well,” Thane pointed out. “And how can I fly well if I don’t practice?”
“Your family has its own hangar and aircraft. Therefore you can practice at any time.”
With his best smile, Thane said, “But we also have you, CZ-1. That means I can take math lessons at any time, too. I can only fly with a partner when Ciena’s free, and she’s coming today, so doesn’t it make sense for me to prioritize flight time?”
CZ-1 cocked his head, and Thane heard the faint whirring that meant the droid was thinking hard.
Very casually, Thane said, “You know, when I get back, I really ought to give you a lubrication bath. A nice long soak. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
A few more moments of silence followed before CZ-1 said, “Now that you mention it, my couplings have been stiff lately.”
With a grin, Thane snapped off the mathematics holo and grabbed his flight jacket. “I’ll be home before my parents get back from that stupid banquet. Okay?”
“And mathematics tomorrow morning!” CZ-1 called as Thane dashed out the door.
His family had a private hangar, but—as with most people on Jelucan—their territory ran more vertically than horizontally. Their gold-tiled home stretched almost the entire width of their property, mostly because his parents had insisted that people of their stature needed a home grander than the neighbors’. The snobbery annoyed Thane less than the fact that this meant his hangar was three hundred meters away—downhill.
At least he’d figured out a solution. With a grin, Thane slid on his flight goggles and ran for the far ridge. The handlebars were in position and ready, so all he had to do was grab them tightly, release the brake, and jump.
Immediately, he was zooming along the cable that led from his home to his hangar, dangling from the handlebars as he sped down the long rid
ge of stone. Cold mountain air whipped around him as he looked down into the valley far below. It wasn’t as good as flying, but it came close.
He reactivated the brake as he slid toward the end post, but only gradually, because he liked to have some velocity left at the end. Just before he would’ve crashed into the post, Thane let go and leaped to the ground, laughing out loud.
Then he heard, “You know, someday you’re going to break your face on that thing.”
Thane turned to see Ciena standing there next to her family’s clunky old ridgecrawler. She looked even shorter and skinnier than she was in that oversize flight suit, and her face still appeared younger than her age, with its rounded cheeks and snub nose. Her arms were folded across her chest and she was trying to look stern, but he could see the smile hiding in her dark brown eyes.
He righted himself and clapped his hands together to clean his gloves. “You’re just jealous because I never let you do it.”
Ciena stuck her tongue out at him. “I could do it, you know.”
Of course she could; Thane never doubted that. But the line started at his house, and his parents hated her even more than her parents hated him. The few times they’d met, his family had treated Ciena so rudely that it made Thane almost sick with shame. Ciena was no more eager to encounter the Kyrells again than they were to see her.
However, the two of them always pretended there was no reason they shouldn’t spend time together. It was easier than talking about how their families wanted them apart.
“Here I was worried about running late,” Ciena continued, “and I beat you here.”
“Trigonometry.” Thane grimaced, an expression Ciena matched. “Come on, let’s get started. Lizard-toad-snake for pilot?” They each silently counted to three and held out their hands. Thane had gone for the snake, but Ciena chose lizard, and lizard ate snake. She beamed, and he gestured toward the V-171’s hatch. “Pilots first.”