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Empire Reforged
Chapter 2: The Bones of the Vigilance
Location: Centares Orbital Depot
Date: BBY 8 – 0500 Hours
The shuttle's descent into Centares orbit was as rough as the system's reputation.
Lucan Virex stood in the open hatchway as the dull gray planet spun slowly beneath them. Centares was a factory world—strip-mined, overbuilt, forgotten. A husk of industrial sprawl and waste-ridden oceans, orbiting a dying sun. Its orbital depot wasn't much better. From the shuttle's viewports, the structure looked like a skeletal ring of rusted gantries and outdated docking ports strung together with last-century shielding arrays.
A half-lit holosign flickered overhead:
"IMPERIAL NAVAL SECTOR 41 – ORBITAL DOCK SIX"
The shuttle rotated to align. Lucan braced his boots as the inertial dampeners stuttered. The pilot didn't apologize.
They touched down on the hangar deck with a hiss of steam and the groan of neglected machinery. The platform's magnetic seals hummed faintly beneath their feet as the landing ramp lowered.
Lucan descended into the smell of oil, oxidized metal, and a faint, persistent note of burnt circuitry.
No honor guard. No welcoming officer. Just a lone maintenance droid clanking by on uneven legs, dragging a crate behind it. Two deckhands were arguing in the corner over a ration voucher.
He slung his duffel over his shoulder and walked toward the admin tower. The corridors were functional—bare durasteel walls, flickering wall panels, patchy insulation. The kind of place that barely survived audits because no one important ever visited.
A grizzled officer in a utility uniform stood outside the command room, smoking an illegal stim.
"You Virex?" the man asked without looking up.
"Yes."
He jerked a thumb toward the bulkhead. "Ship's through there. Bay Twelve. You'll need clearance—here." He tossed over a flimsy datachip. "Good luck. That thing's older than I am."
Lucan inserted the chip into his pad and kept walking.
—
Bay Twelve was dim and unpressurized. A full vacuum hangar, open to void through a force field barrier, its walls pockmarked with faded paint and panel scars. And there she was.
The Vigilance floated in the cradle like a corpse being prepared for burial.
The IPV-120 vessel was small for an Imperial craft—barely over 100 meters bow to stern, dagger-shaped, with a narrow ventral spine and twin engine nacelles. Its hull was scorched and uneven, gray plating discolored by plasma burns and micro-meteorite impacts. One of the sensor dishes was missing entirely; a jagged stump of wiring stuck out like a broken bone.
Her name was still stenciled along the primary dorsal fin in flaking Aurebesh.
Lucan stood there in silence, letting the sight settle.
This was his command.
He cycled through the airlock and entered the ship's main corridor. The interior was worse. The lights flickered. The walls groaned with every magnetic field shift. A coolant leak hissed faintly somewhere near the auxiliary shaft. The entire ship smelled like carbonized wiring and recycled air.
Footsteps echoed around a corner.
A woman in officer's grays stopped in front of him. Her hair was short, dusty blond, swept back into a utilitarian twist. Her expression was professional, if skeptical.
"Lieutenant Virex?"
"Yes."
"Lieutenant Commander Selene Darran. Acting XO. Until this morning, I was de facto captain." Her eyes didn't waver. "Welcome aboard."
Lucan studied her for half a second. She held herself like someone who'd kept things running through sheer will, not authorization.
"I'll be assuming full command now," he said.
"I read the orders. Didn't expect anyone from Raithal."
"I imagine most don't come here willingly."
She snorted. "No. They don't."
Lucan looked past her. A junior officer was trying to patch a power junction near the main corridor hatch using stripped wires and insulating tape.
"Is this standard maintenance?"
"It's what we have. Centares Depot doesn't prioritize patrol vessels. We trade for parts with scrap haulers. Occasionally siphon from Sector garbage assignments."
"How long since full systems check?"
"Eight months."
Lucan paused. "You'll gather the senior crew in the command briefing room in one hour. I want complete systems status and patrol records for the last six cycles."
She gave a slow nod. "Yes, sir."
He stepped past her and continued down the corridor.
—
The command briefing room was smaller than the one at the Academy and far dirtier. The walls bore the smudges of years of boot scuffs and exposed conduit patches. A table in the center flickered with a projection of the Centares patrol grid, half of which was outdated or marked red.
Lucan stood with his arms behind his back as the crew trickled in.
Lieutenant Commander Selene Darran took a position at his right. The others filed in with varied expressions—curiosity, skepticism, boredom.
There was a comms tech with more tattoos than regulation allowed. A weapons officer who looked like he hadn't shaved in a week. A tall, quiet engineer with grease-streaked gloves. And a navigation officer barely out of academy.
Six officers. None above junior rank. This was the leadership of the Vigilance.
Lucan spoke.
"This ship is under my command as of 0500 hours standard. I have reviewed the logs. You've remained within the prescribed patrol lanes and completed your assignments. Your reports are... sufficient. But your ship is not."
He let the silence settle.
"This vessel is part of the Imperial Navy. Whether the sector remembers that or not is irrelevant. You will be expected to operate at the standards expected of the fleet. I do not tolerate sloppiness, insubordination, or excuses. You'll learn my command structure quickly. You'll find I am fair, but not patient."
The tattooed comms officer shifted slightly. The weapons officer smirked.
Lucan's voice sharpened.
"I've already submitted requisition adjustments and ordered a double-shift rotation. Starting tomorrow, we drill. Simulated combat. Boarding procedures. Reactor safety. Chain-of-command reinforcement. You will be a patrol vessel again—not a derelict."
The smirk vanished.
Lucan tapped the datapad in his palm. "We depart for our first patrol run in thirty-six hours. Until then, get your departments functional. If they don't function, replace them. Dismissed."
The officers began to file out, slower this time.
Only Darran lingered.
"You'll get resistance," she said quietly once the room emptied. "They've had captains come and go. Most didn't bother trying."
Lucan turned toward her.
"I'm not most."
And in the command lights of a fading star, the Vigilance finally felt like it belonged to someone again.
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