by Claudia Gray
She awaited her turn, started her engine, and watched as Harn checked the efficiency ratings and overall power. Although he did not speak, his eyes met hers as if he were assessing her anew—and well. She’d impressed him. Somehow she managed to keep a straight face, even when Kendy mouthed, Way to go, over the commander’s shoulder.
When Harn looked over Thane’s cannon and reached for the starter, Ciena held her breath—
—but the laser cannon didn’t power up.
At all.
The color drained from Thane’s face. Ciena didn’t feel so good herself. She’d wanted to beat him but not to see him fail completely.
How is that even possible? she thought, gripping her hands together more tightly behind her back. Thane’s not an instinctive mechanic, but he works hard and he’s thorough, and he would have checked his cannon dozens of times. This can’t be happening.
“This is unlike you, Kyrell,” said Harn as he made a notation on the tablet he carried in one hand. “Let’s see where you went wrong.”
Harn flipped open the control panel of Thane’s laser cannon, then froze, his sharp features hardening into a look of displeasure, even anger.
Whatever it was, Thane saw it, too, and it made him swear out loud—right there, standing at attention, a commander right in front of him. A few people gasped.
But Harn didn’t reprimand Thane. Instead, with a gesture, Harn released everyone from attention. Cadets crowded close, blocking Ciena’s view at first, but she pushed through until she could see inside the open panel of Thane’s cannon and realized just why everyone had begun muttering and looking around suspiciously.
The wires inside had been cut. Straight, clean—the marks made it clear that this wasn’t bad wiring or an accident. Someone had done it on purpose.
Sabotage. Academy competition could be cutthroat, but up until then everyone had apparently played fair. A chill ran along Ciena’s spine at the thought of it. How could anyone, much less an Imperial cadet, be so devoid of honor? She was nearly as offended at the thought as she was sorry for Thane.
“We’ll solve this quickly enough,” Harn promised, his voice sharp and cold as an ice pick. “Whoever thought to improve class rankings through such a stunt will have cause for regret.” He strode toward the main door panel, pressed his hand to it, and said, “How many cadets had access to this room, alone, between Cadet Kyrell’s last visit and this inspection?”
The flat monotone of a synthesized voice replied, “One.”
“And who was that?” Harn barked.
“L-P-eight-eight-eight.”
Ciena had misheard the computer. She had to have.
But then the computer continued, finishing its answer: “Cadet Ciena Ree.”
“I would never do such a thing,” Ciena swore in Commandant Deenlark’s office, as she stood at attention before his long obsidian desk. “Not to anyone, but especially not to Thane.”
“And why not? He was your only competition for the top rank in the class, yes?”
“But—he’s my friend.”
“Friendship rarely endures ambition.”
Ciena’s stomach churned so violently she had to fight not to be sick on the floor. This nightmare had swallowed her whole. Not only had she seen Thane’s shocked look of dismay, not only had the entire class glared at her as she was hastily marched out of the repair bay, but also—and worst of all—her honor was in tatters, and she didn’t know whether she could salvage it.
What happens if I’m thrown out of the academy? Her thoughts raced wildly while she maintained her rigid posture and best attempt at outward composure. I’ll never become an Imperial officer. Maybe I could still get work as a pilot, but I couldn’t return home to Jelucan, not ever. My parents couldn’t even allow me in the house without the rest of the kindred shunning us.
No. She couldn’t put her mother and father through that. If she were expelled, Ciena would have to travel to some completely unknown planet and start over, completely alone.
The doors of Deenlark’s office slid open, and the commandant barked, “We’re still dealing with this situation.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.” Harn quickly stood at attention. “But another cadet has stepped forward with critical information.”
The mixture of terror and hope flooding through her made Ciena unable to speak, even when Jude walked through the door, a tablet in her hands. Once Commandant Deenlark motioned impatiently for Jude to begin, she spoke as calmly and evenly as if she were reading a list of machine parts. “Sir. Cadet Jude Edivon of Bespin, T-I-eight-zero-three, reporting in. A thorough review of the data reveals that at the time Cadet Ree supposedly entered the repair bay to tamper with Cadet Kyrell’s ship, she was in fact with me and her other roommate, Cadet Idele, in our bunk. I’ve pulled up data logs that show her leaving the martial arts arena, entering the lift, and coming into our room, and there is no correlating record of her departure.”
Ciena felt almost faint with relief, but Deenlark continued to frown. “Data logs can themselves be tampered with, Cadet Edivon.”
Jude nodded. “It is my belief that someone not only sabotaged Cadet Kyrell’s ship but also the repair bay computer, in order to make it look as though Cadet Ree was the one responsible. In short, sir, I believe she was framed.”
“Your beliefs are meaningless without evidence, Cadet Edivon,” said the commandant. Ciena didn’t dare hope that Jude and Kendy’s testimony on its own could clear her. If so, wouldn’t he have said so already?
“Sir—I hesitate to name the person who seems to be responsible for this sabotage, because while the data is clear, it is not absolute proof.” Jude’s fingers tightened around the tablet, as if she were afraid the information would be snatched from her.
Why are you holding back? Ciena wanted to shout. Who did this to me?
Commandant Deenlark stood up, and he was tall enough to tower over even the willowy Jude. “Report your findings.”
Jude gave Ciena an apologetic glance. “Sir, it appears that the person responsible for framing Cadet Ree was…Cadet Thane Kyrell himself.”
No. Ciena refused to believe that. There had to be another answer; Jude must have misunderstood the data.
But nobody was better at getting into the inner workings of computers than Jude. Thane was the only other competitor for the top slot, and mechanical repair was one of his main weaknesses. If he hadn’t done well on the project and had feared he would fail—he could have cut the wires of his own machine to disguise his inability to repair it. By framing Ciena for the sabotage, he would not only avoid being marked down for failing the project but also drag her down so far she’d never be number one in the class.
This isn’t as simple as class rank, though. This could get me expelled! Thane wouldn’t do that to me, not ever.
And yet Jude stood there with the proof glowing on the datapad in her hands.
“WHAT DID THE commandant say?” Nash asked Thane.
“Just to come to the office.” Thane resealed his uniform jacket, making himself ready for the meeting.
“Do you think he’ll offer you another chance at the laser cannon?” Ved lay back on his bunk, hardly even pretending to be concerned about what happened to Thane’s class rank.
At the moment, Thane cared about his rank even less than Ved did. “I think he’s going to tell me what really happened.”
Nash raised an eyebrow. “You still think Ciena didn’t screw with your engine? Even though there’s proof?”
“It’s not like her,” Thane said shortly as he walked toward the door.
He wasn’t 100 percent sure Ciena was innocent—the data had pointed to her, and Thane had to admit data within the academy computers was difficult to falsify. However, he felt at least 95 percent sure. Not only did Thane trust her, he understood what kind of person she was and where she came from. Sure, plenty of academy cadets would cheat to get ahead. But Ciena, a girl of the Jelucani valleys—she would die before doing anything dishonorable. Surely
she would never betray anyone, much less him. They meant too much to each other for that.
Still, he felt that five percent uncertainty, and he’d never doubted Ciena before, even for a second.
When Thane walked into Commandant Deenlark’s office, he was surprised to see Ciena standing there at full attention. At first he was glad—good, we can smooth this over and move on—and then he realized that she refused to meet his eyes. Was that out of discipline or guilt?
“Cadet Kyrell. Cadet Ree. We have a conundrum on our hands.” The commandant never rose from his chair as he studied them standing side by side, rigid and correct. “The first layer of data says that Cadet Ree is the only possible culprit for the tampering discovered today. However, the second layer of data suggests that Cadet Kyrell tampered with his laser cannon himself and framed Cadet Ree for the deed.”
Thane had not known you could feel the blood drain from your face. It was like going numb from cold. “Sir! I absolutely did not—I would never—”
“Spare me your protestations, Cadet Kyrell.” By then Deenlark seemed more bored than anything else. “I have consulted with our specialists, who inform me that either layer of data could be the falsified one. One of you attempted to sabotage the other, and covered your tracks—not well enough to hide completely but enough that we can never be certain which of you is responsible and which is innocent. Therefore we have no other recourse but to punish you both.”
Good pilot though he was, Thane had occasionally “crashed” a flight simulator. As the screens had showed him the images of flames and a planetary surface rushing up to smash him to atoms, he’d wondered what it would feel like to crash and burn for real.
Probably it was something like this.
Commandant Deenlark smiled thinly. “You have both failed the laser cannon assignment. Your course rankings will reflect this.”
Their ranks were high enough that even a failure of that scale wouldn’t take them down further than the second quartile. Still, it stung.
“Normally,” the commandant continued, “a violation of the honor code would call for disciplinary hearings and potential expulsion. As we cannot get any closer to the truth, however, this would prove useless. Although I have punished you both, I am not willing to expel two gifted pilots based on such murky information. You will both continue on as cadets. Rest assured, however—if any similar incident arises during your time at the academy, for either or both of you, expulsion will be immediate and permanent. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Thane and Ciena said in unison. Her voice sounded as hollow as his.
They walked out of Deenlark’s office suite in silence. From there—one of the top floors of the academy building—the view through the green-tinted windows showed what seemed to be half of Coruscant. A few benches and chairs were located there for junior officers, students, and visitors, so that when they saw the city spread before them, they would recognize the commandant’s power. No one was visiting this evening, however; Thane and Ciena were alone.
As if they had rehearsed in advance, they both walked to the windows before they turned to each other. When their eyes met, she exhaled in the deepest relief. “You didn’t do it.”
“Neither did you.” He ought to have known that all along. They smiled at each other, faith restored—but the problem wasn’t solved. Thane sagged back against one of the metal columns between the windows. “So who the hell did?”
Ciena scowled. “Somebody who wanted top marks on the project. Probably that snake Ved Foslo.”
“I’m not as sure about that. Ved’s good with mechanical stuff; he would have placed in the top echelon even without cheating. So why bother? Besides, he’s a stickler for rules, even when they work against him.”
“So who would frame us both, and try to make us hate each other?” Her face looked stricken. “Sabotaging the cannon and the data wasn’t just scheming to get ahead. Someone wanted to hurt us.”
Who in their class had a grudge against them both? Nobody personally hated them—as far as Thane knew, which maybe wasn’t far enough. “It has to be because we’re both at the top of the class.”
Ciena groaned. “You mean we were. This knocks us so far down—”
“Only for now.” He realized he’d balled his hands into fists. “We have to figure out who really did this. Once we turn that person in, we’ll get our rankings back and get the jerk thrown out.”
“Nobody who would do something like this deserves to be an Imperial officer,” she said, lifting her chin. “You’re right. We get to the truth, and then we make the guilty party pay.”
Thane nodded. Outside, ships and hoverbikes darted through the misty sunset of the city. “Okay, how do we begin?”
Jude agreed to help them, though as they sat at one of the spare data stations later that night, she warned, “My earlier analysis wrongly implicated Thane. Therefore my skills must be called into question.”
“Don’t say that.” Ciena put one hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You found the wrong solution because someone set you up to find it. Now that you know you need to dig deeper, I bet you’ll get the answer in no time. Right, Thane?” She shot him a look and he nodded, as if he hadn’t argued the exact same thing about Jude’s abilities outside the commandant’s office when Ciena first suggested they try this.
But she believed in her friend. If they were going to find the truth, Jude would be their best guide.
Jude worked at her terminal for several minutes while no one spoke, or hardly even moved. The only sound in the enormous data analysis room was the soft tapping of Jude’s fingers on the controls; the only light came from the dozens of terminals vacant at that late hour, all of them glowing faintly blue. Ciena glanced over at Thane once to find him already looking at her. Once their eyes met, he turned his head, abashed.
For some reason, that made her cheeks grow hot.
With determination, she focused her attention on figuring out who the most likely culprits could be. Anyone might have wanted to knock them lower in the rankings. But attempting to pit them against each other—that was someone aiming to inflict pain.
We outsmarted them, though. Her heart swelled with pride, and other emotions harder to name, as she glanced sideways at Thane again. It takes more than that to break us apart.
“Hmmm.” Jude frowned, wrinkling her long freckled nose. “The paths taken by the saboteur are quite circuitous. I traced the information about Thane and—it’s as if they wanted to make it look like a higher official here at the academy was responsible.”
Ciena had to shake her head. “Lie after lie after lie. When I find out who did this, I’m going to ask them why they ever thought they’d be able to frame an instructor and get away with it.”
“Not an instructor. Someone in the Office of Student Outcomes,” Jude clarified.
So what? An instructor, an administration official, whoever—it was still a stupid move. But Thane straightened in his chair, realization dawning on his face. “Do you guys know what the Office of Student Outcomes does?”
Ciena had never even heard of it. Jude replied, “They oversee student performance and suggest methods for instructors to use in order to provide maximum improvement.” Then she added, with a shrug, “But I have no idea precisely how they accomplish that.”
“Apparently they do it by screwing with our minds!” Thane pushed himself back from the data terminal, as angry as Ciena had ever seen him.
Someone needed to remain rational. “Thane,” she said, “think about what you’re saying. Why would anyone on the academy staff want to set us up?”
“Because they don’t want two cadets from a backwater world to beat all the military brats. Because General Foslo or Admiral Jasten or someone like that told them to knock us down so their kid could be number one.” Thane got to his feet, expression dark.
Even though she understood why Thane would be on edge, Ciena felt annoyed. “Why are you turning this into some big conspiracy theory?”
<
br /> Jude, who had been sitting silently at her terminal, chimed in: “It is a conspiracy of some sort. The only question is who should be held responsible.”
“Nobody would be stupid enough to set up an official at the academy,” Thane ranted. “Nobody smart enough to set this up in the first place, anyway. So that means the Student Outcomes people have to have done it.”
“You can’t be serious.” Cold fear began to pool inside her; Thane was edging past understandable anger into dangerous territory. You did not question the methods of the academy.
“Yeah, I’m serious. They took a bribe or something. How many credits do you think it costs to buy your kid the top rank in the class? However much that is, it’s as much as the academy thinks we’re worth.”
“You realize you’re making a criminal allegation, don’t you?” Ciena retorted.
He shot back, “What, are you going to report me?”
Jude sat very still at her terminal, her eyes moving back and forth between them as they argued. Ciena knew they ought to tone it down at least until they were alone, but she was too angry to do that, and so was Thane. “I’m not going to report you. But you need to remember why we’re here, and who we serve.”
“You think everything the academy and the Empire do is perfect!”
“And you think every authority figure is evil like your father!”
Thane’s eyes went wide, and she knew she’d wounded him. He stepped toward her. “Don’t ever bring my father up to me again. It’s none of your business. Got that?”
He’d never told her anything in his life was none of her business. They knew everything about each other; they kept no secrets. Now Thane had put up a barrier where there had never been one before, a wall of stone, and Ciena felt like she’d just slammed into it at top speed.
“You realize we have to confront them about this,” he continued, because apparently he was so angry he’d lost his mind.
“You want us to accuse academy officials of dishonesty?”