CIENA’S HANDS HAD gone numb, but still she stood there, palms against the window, staring at the new Death Star.

Why would they ever build another one? It was only to stop the war before it began—and it failed—so why?

She knew the answer but could not yet accept it. Instead she stared at the massive hulk of the space station, which only seemed to grow larger as the Executor drew close. Ciena had often wondered how such a gargantuan structure could be built in the first place; even the enormous resources of the Empire had to be strained by the construction of something the size of a large moon. Now she could see the process for herself, because this Death Star had not yet been completed. Great sections remained unfinished, and she could stare into the guts of the thing, an ugly crosshatch of beams and struts surrounding deep, hollow darkness.

Her own words in a Valentia cantina echoed in her memory, taunting her: The Emperor and the Moffs have to see, now, that destroying Alderaan did no good. It didn’t stop the Rebellion.…The only reason to attack Alderaan was to prevent an even more devastating war. The war has begun anyway. It’s too late to save the galaxy from that.

No other reason could ever justify the destruction of an entire planet, or the deaths of billions of people. Only by restoring galactic peace could the Empire redeem those deaths.

But now more worlds would be destroyed for no reason—except to cause pain and fear.

Maybe they’re doing this to finally end the war, Ciena thought. But the excuse was too feeble for her to believe even for an instant. If the Rebellion hadn’t been cowed by the destruction of Alderaan, then the deaths of other planets wouldn’t stop it, either. Instead, this would incite more people to join the rebel cause. This wouldn’t end the war; it would intensify it beyond all imagining.

Whenever Ciena had a nightmare about Alderaan, she scoured away her doubts by remembering Jude. Her friend’s loss had always helped Ciena balance the scales in her mind—to recall that massive death and destruction had been caused by both sides in the conflict. Today, however, she could only think that if Jude had seen the second Death Star, she would have recoiled from it.

She would never have wanted this done in her name. Never.

The cold had leached through to Ciena’s bones. Finally, she pulled her aching hands back from the window, rubbing them in hopes of restoring blood flow. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get warm again.

Once her shuttle from the Executor had docked on the Death Star, Ciena could see for herself how much had in fact been completed. From the outside, the enormous unfinished hemisphere dominated the view. Inside, however, they were anchored by a wholly functional tractor beam, disembarked onto a deck that was not only finished but polished, and walked into a space station as advanced as any other in the Imperial Starfleet. They had prepared well for the Emperor’s arrival.

“So we’re finally senior enough to get to see the Emperor himself.” Berisse covered her mouth with her fingers, trying and failing to conceal a smile. “I don’t know what I’m so excited about. We’ll be crowded in with another few thousand officers. Probably we’ll have a worse view than the back row at a podracing arena.”

Nash had, as usual, fallen in step beside them. Ever since the dogfight in the Hudalla system, he had been more attentive to Ciena than ever. “Still, we’ll be able to tell our grandchildren about the day we saw Palpatine for ourselves. And a big ceremony—well, it makes a welcome change, doesn’t it? Just what you needed, Ciena. Something to cheer you up.”

She’d been hearing variations on that ever since Hudalla. The irony was that she did have a broken heart—just not for the reasons he believed.

Yet that minor irritation hardly mattered next to Ciena’s consternation. How can they talk about the ceremony for the Emperor? How does any of that matter compared with the fact we’re standing inside a Death Star?

Then she checked herself. Yes, they were standing inside a Death Star, surrounded by hundreds of other officers—some stationed there, others from the advance vessels sent to ready an appropriate ceremony for the Emperor’s arrival. Surely some of them shared her doubts, but others would not. Publicly voicing her opposition would send her straight to the brig. She could learn from her friends’ self-control.

So Ciena remained quiet until the three of them miraculously wound up alone in a lift. Her command-track training had taught her that listening devices were rarely put in military lifts due to frequency changes, so talking there was likely safe. As soon as the doors slid shut, she said, “I can’t believe they built another Death Star.”

Berisse shrugged as she leaned against the wall, no longer military proper. “I can’t believe they did it this soon. How long does it take to construct one of these? They must have started right after the Battle of Yavin. Good for them.”

Ciena refused to believe she’d heard that right. “…good for them?”

“Well, we had to rebuild the Death Star. I mean, come on!” Berisse’s frown revealed how confused she was by Ciena’s reaction. “The single biggest and most powerful station ever constructed in galactic history, and it gets blown up by rebel scum? Re-creating the Death Star is the only way we could ever honor our people who died at Yavin. If we hadn’t rebuilt it, then the terrorists would have won.”

“You don’t seem to agree, Ciena.” Nash’s tone was light, but she could see how intently he was looking at her. “What do you think?”

She realized she’d begun to sweat. “I think—I think that if we’ve built a Death Star, we plan to use it. That another world will die, just like Alderaan did.”

Berisse scoffed. “No way. Once the station’s complete and word gets out? Nobody will ever defy the Emperor like that again. The Rebellion’s going to melt away. Wait and see.”

Even amidst Ciena’s most painful doubts about Imperial tactics, she had believed that rule of law was always better than chaos—even when that law was harsh. But the future Berisse described was not rule of law. It was rule by fear, and therefore tyranny. Even the darkest atrocities of the Clone Wars did not compare with the destruction of an inhabited world.

And what did it mean that Ciena was afraid to say that out loud, even to her closest friends?

She tried to find the right words to make them understand. “When Alderaan was destroyed, we thought it would force the Rebellion to surrender. That we could prevent this war. But we’ve been at war for three years anyway.” And if someone as cynical as Thane can find rebel leaders to follow and admire, the Rebel Alliance won’t vanish as easily as you think. “Don’t you see? Those tactics didn’t work. If this station isn’t used to protect the Empire’s citizens from war, then how can we justify it?”

Nash stood up straighter, his eyes narrowing. When he answered her, his voice gave her chills. “Are you saying that Alderaan was destroyed in vain? For nothing?”

Ciena held up her hands. “Nash, please, I don’t mean to—”

“Listen to me,” he said. “Alderaan had to die for the Empire’s true power to be acknowledged. My homeworld’s end was also the end of the Imperial Senate, the end of the countless petty power struggles that had plagued Palpatine’s early reign. Only then was the Empire’s true strength revealed.”

His gaze had become glazed, almost unfocused, like that of someone suffering from a fever. This was what his face must have looked like during the Hudalla dogfight.

Nash continued, “This war is only the aftermath of the conflicts that have racked the galaxy during the past century, the final useless gasp of those who would oppose us. Through sheer stupid luck, the rebels managed to destroy the first Death Star. By rebuilding the Death Star, and using it as many times as necessary to restore order, we prove that their luck only goes so far. We prove that we are the only galactic authority and always will be.”

The lift doors slid open to the deck of the smaller docking bay that would soon welcome the Emperor. Countless officers filled the corridors, a crush that precluded any hope of speaking freely. Ciena felt vulnerable. Any of these people could and would expose her as a traitor—even her two best friends.

Then Nash’s hands closed gently around her shoulders. “You’re still not yourself,” he said. “After learning how Thane lied to you, of course you’re second-guessing who you can trust, maybe even what’s real.”

“That dogfight was one of the worst moments of my life,” she said. At least she could say that with total honesty.

“Trust in your service. Trust in us. Above all, trust in the oath you took when we graduated from the academy. Your integrity defines you, Ciena. You won’t go wrong if you only stay true.” Nash smiled down at her in the way that usually made her think up an excuse to leave the room. The same crush she’d tried so hard to discourage had become her best shield against a charge of treason.

Berisse, meanwhile, had already moved on. “What are we waiting for? The Emperor’s shuttle will be here soon. Let’s get it together!”

During the next couple of hours of instructions and formations, Ciena stood separately from her friends; commanders had a marginally better position, though hundreds of captains, admirals, and top gunners still stood in front of her. Numbly, she did whatever was asked of her, shifting position as the organizers thought better of it. At least it was something to do. She tried to occupy her mind by observing the power play among the various members of the top brass, but even that didn’t help. Seeing how petty their concerns were, and how often they betrayed fear of Lord Vader’s anger, only reminded Ciena that the Imperial Starfleet she’d served was not the one she’d believed in all this time.

Finally, the hour came. Lord Vader strode out, black cape billowing behind him; from a distance, the white shuttlecraft looked like a star. As it came closer, Ciena could see the distinctive gray stripe on its nose, the marking that informed everyone this was truly the Emperor arriving.

To Ciena’s surprise, Lord Vader bowed as figures began to descend from the shuttle. None of the other officers were required to bow. What could that mean? But the question was wiped from her mind as Emperor Palpatine came into view.

Palpatine’s face appeared on countless holos every single day. Like anyone else in the Empire, she could have described him as well as she could members of her own family. Hair almost entirely gray but still thick, face betraying only the slightest lines of care and time, his posture straight, his eyes sharp. In other words, the face shown to the world had nothing to do with the reality. Ciena’s eyes widened as she took in the face his heavy hood did not entirely conceal—the unnatural paleness of his skin, the inhuman folds and wrinkles. He walked through the bay with his back hunched and without so much as a word or glance toward the hundreds of loyal officers assembled to greet him.

Don’t be petty. So he’s grown older. That’s only natural! And surely the Emperor has other things on his mind than some silly ceremony—

The rationalizations didn’t work. What shook Ciena wasn’t merely the Emperor’s appearance; it was the sense of almost depthless malice that radiated from him, so strongly she could have reeled. Even from a distance, Palpatine awakened in her a physical dread—primitive instincts telling her to escape or fight.

Only one other person had ever made her feel that way: Darth Vader. Ciena had always told herself that Vader was an aberration, unique in the Empire. So far as it went, that was true. But the most terrifying thing about him, the constant sense of malevolence and danger he inspired—that was shared by the most powerful person in the galaxy.

Is this who I’ve been serving all along?

This is a bad dream.

Didn’t work. Thane could feel the iron bench beneath him, smell the grease-and-ozone scent of the repair bay. Every mundane detail made it clear he was wide awake.

This is a test. A drill. The Alliance leaders want to find out what we’d do when confronted with the worst-case scenario.

No way. They wouldn’t risk pulling together the entire rebel armada for a mere drill.

But if it wasn’t a nightmare and it wasn’t a drill, it was the undeniable, horrible truth: the Empire had built a second Death Star.

Thane could think of words from three dozen worlds to describe how he felt, each epithet more obscene than the last. But he lacked the breath to speak any of them. He could only stare at the rotating holo in front of the X-wing squadrons as they received their briefing from General Madine.

“Exactly how are they going to take care of the shield generator?” Kendy asked. “They’ll have dozens of troopers down on the forest moon of Endor, if not hundreds—”

“General Solo will take over from Major Lokmarcha, who was killed in action. Solo’s team on the moon of Endor will handle the shield generator. Each person involved in this assault has enough to do on their own without worrying about someone else’s job, Corona Five,” Madine said sternly.

Thane whispered to Yendor, “Who the hell is General Solo?”

“You know. Han Solo! Captain of the Millennium Falcon?”

The ship name sounded vaguely familiar, but Thane couldn’t quite place it.

Yendor’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Come on! He’s one of the guys who rescued Princess Leia from the first Death Star. You remember that, right?”

“I wasn’t with the Rebellion then. I didn’t join until right before Hoth.”

“Oh. I guess Captain Solo got captured by a bounty hunter right after Hoth.” Yendor’s lekku drooped. “So you wouldn’t know him—but, hey, he’s one of the best.”

“Indeed he is,” interrupted General Madine, who had apparently overheard their entire conversation. Both Thane and Yendor faced forward and sat up straight. “General Solo will be joined on the forest moon strike team by Princess Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker. They’ll have that shield down.”

Luke Skywalker, again. Thane managed to keep from rolling his eyes. But Princess Leia he admired. If he could trust anyone, he could trust her.

General Madine continued, “Meanwhile, General Calrissian will be leading the starfighters diving into the core of the Death Star. The dispersal of the Imperial fleet gives us this unprecedented chance to strike. Due to the unfinished construction, the station’s main reactor remains exposed and vulnerable. A strike team should be able to penetrate the Death Star and fire into that reactor, setting off a chain reaction that will destroy the station before it ever has a chance to become operational.”

And who is this General Calrissian? Thane decided not to ask that question out loud. If the Rebel Alliance was happy turning over its two most critical missions of all time to a bunch of brand-new generals, okay, fine—

“Corona Squadron, your mission is to cover General Calrissian in the Millennium Falcon and the other starfighters in the Gold, Red, Green, and Gray Squadrons as they penetrate the Death Star,” Madine continued. “The fewer TIE fighters they have to fight on their way in, the better their chances of a clean hit and a getaway for the entire fleet. This means you’ll be dealing with TIE fire from both inside and outside the space station, as well as potential long-range fire from any larger ships the Empire can deploy.”

At some point in the near future, Thane figured, he would completely freak out at the thought of going into battle against a Death Star. Right now, he could hardly comprehend the existence of the damned thing.

He had believed Ciena naive for arguing that the Empire would never again try to destroy another world. Only now did Thane realize that, on some level, he had believed it, too. The thought of another Alderaan was too much to wrap his mind around. No matter how long the odds against them, the Rebellion had to attack. From now on, this was not only the most important battle they had to fight—it was the only battle that would ever matter.

After the briefing he walked through the main hangar, which had become a frenzy of activity. Although many pilots were checking out their ships, others were making a point of hugging friends, shaking hands. Saying good-bye, just in case.

Thane stopped by the Moa first, where he shook Brill’s paw and Methwat’s long-fingered hand and for once hugged Lohgarra as tightly as she hugged him. But one member of the Moa’s crew turned out to be with Corona Squadron.

“I’ve needed a new astromech for a while,” Yendor said as JJH2 was lowered into position aboard the X-wing. “You said this guy is the best.”

JJH2 beeped inquisitively, and Thane smiled at the little droid despite himself. “Yeah, I said it and I meant it. Take care of each other out there, okay?”

As Yendor and JJH2 checked out systems together, Thane climbed into his ship. He’d already given his X-wing a thorough going-over after the Hudalla dogfight; he had nothing to do but sit in his cockpit and wait for the order to fly into combat against a Death Star—which sounded a lot like committing suicide.

The Rebel Alliance had managed to destroy the first Death Star, but they’d gotten lucky and they had to know it. A design flaw with an exhaust port? What were the odds? Thane shook his head as he imagined it. As a former Imperial officer, he knew very well how that kind of oversight would be punished. No engineer who had worked on the second Death Star would make a similar mistake. This station would be even stronger than the first.

For a moment he remembered being a brand-new graduate of the Royal Academy on Coruscant, flying toward his posting on the Death Star. When he had first seen the station, the sheer scale of it had awed him like nothing before. He still found it difficult to believe that the first Death Star had fallen, or that the second one ever could.

The old, cynical voice in his head whispered, You know, you could cut out of here. All-volunteer military, remember?

But Thane didn’t listen to that voice much anymore. The other members of Corona Squadron and the crew of the Moa were as close as he had to a family now—maybe the closest he’d ever had. He might not share his comrades’ wishful thinking, but he’d be damned if he’d abandon them on the eve of the most dangerous battle they’d ever faced.

And if the Empire won, condemning the galaxy to an eternity of its harsh, corrupt rule?

Thane decided he’d rather go down fighting.

It had been two days since Ciena had first seen the Death Star and the Emperor, and those two days had all but destroyed her.

Each horrifying realization struck her at a different moment, and no sooner had she thought she could bear one than another would undermine her completely. The Emperor’s horrifying presence—the unjust conviction of her mother—Nash and Berisse’s unquestioning acceptance of genocide as a military tactic—the many pilots who had died for no reason, their lives wasted by a command that didn’t care—and Thane, even now at risk from the Empire every day of his life.

He was right about so many things, she thought dully as she went through the motions of her monthly physical. The medical droid’s cold sensors allowed her to excuse her shuddering as a shiver. I wish I could tell him that.

Ciena still had not forgiven the Rebellion for Jude’s death. Nor did she believe it offered any hope of effective government. However, while she would never contemplate joining the rebels herself, she now understood how Thane could have done so.

“This isn’t about whether or not we’ve kept faith with the Empire,” Thane had said to her as he held her close in the Fortress. “It’s about whether the Empire has kept faith with us.”

An oath of loyalty remained binding even when the subject proved unworthy. It simply became more bitter.

Just as Ciena slipped back into her uniform, an alert began to echo through the ship. “All pilots to TIE fighters, immediately.”

What was that about? Ciena didn’t think the rebels could possibly know about the station yet, if the secret had been kept so effectively that even high-ranking officers on the Executor had not known. Probably it was a drill or some other display of firepower to show off for Palpatine. It made no difference; she wanted to be a part of it. More than anything else, she needed to fly.

By now Ciena’s duties rarely required her to pilot anything smaller than a transport shuttle, and those only rarely. But she’d always kept her skills sharp, and she could volunteer for TIE duty at any point.

Immediately, she went to the ship’s flight commander, who seemed strangely…smug. “I see, Commander,” he said, his thin smile snaking across his face. “Of course you want to be a part of this. Something to tell the grandchildren, hm?”

Yeah, one time I showed off for the loathsome, repellent Emperor who blew up entire planets. Ciena said only, “My next duty shift is six hours away, sir. I’m ready to serve now.”

“Your courage will not go unrecognized, Commander Ree. Report to launching bay nine immediately.”

As Ciena strapped on the black armor of a TIE pilot, she told herself it would all be okay soon, because she’d be flying. Flight remained her greatest joy and her only escape. Once she was aloft, soaring through space, she’d be free of all her crushing doubts. If only for those few minutes, she would be herself again.

In the melee of preparation, she caught a glimpse of Nash, who gave her a roguish smile. He still believed in her. But the pang of guilt had faded before Ciena had even climbed into her cockpit. Whatever else happened in the future, she intended to keep her distance from anyone she’d known before. Perhaps she could put in for some isolated backwater posting—the kind of job nobody wanted, something easy for her to get—and maybe a place where she could actually do some good.

Helmet: locked. Engines: full power. Ciena waited for her squadron’s signal, then flew up and out of the docking bay. Hundreds of other fighters surrounded her, making precision flying necessary. Yet she found it soothing, even the vibration and roar within the cockpit. Takeoff always felt like casting off shackles and breaking free.

For a moment she thought of soaring over the Jelucani mountains in the old V-171, Thane behind her, the two of them flying as one….

Then she shifted to wider sensors and gasped.

Ciena had known hundreds of TIE fighters were taking flight. What she had not guessed was that countless other Imperial craft were massed nearby, as well, including several Star Destroyers. It was beyond anything she’d expected, even greater than the attack force sent to Hoth.

Then the pieces came together.

We’re expecting major action, and soon. That means the rebels are coming.

If the rebels are coming, they know about the Death Star and the Emperor. And if we have this tremendous a force waiting for them, we wanted them to know.

That’s why Piett ordered me to make sure one of the X-wings got away. He needed someone to report the Emperor’s movements to the Rebellion. We were setting a trap all along.

She’d always understood that on some level—why else let the rebels go free, if not to fill their heads with false intel? But she’d thought it no more than a feint to cover the Emperor’s location. Yet the trap the Empire had laid must have been larger and more elaborate; she’d been only one tiny part of it. This wasn’t any ordinary military action. This was the day the Empire planned to destroy the Rebellion for good.

Even as Ciena’s hands tightened on the controls, her screen went crazy, spilling out so much data she could hardly take it all in. In the space surrounding the Death Star and Endor’s moon, thousands of ships had materialized in an instant.

The Rebel Alliance had come, and the Empire was ready for them.