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Empire Reforged
Chapter 20: The Weight of Steel
Location: Centares Command Dockyard – Level D-12
Date: BBY 8 – 0900 Hours, Day 2 Post-Return
The elevator descended in silence.
Steel walls reflected the crew's pale faces. Lucan stood at the front, datapad in hand, coat folded over his arm, eyes locked on the flickering level indicators.
Behind him: Darran, Holtz, Valk, Tarris, and Corren — the command team of the Vigilance, now stripped of their colors and waiting to be reissued under a new name.
The doors opened with a heavy hiss.
Dockyard D-12 stretched out like a cathedral of machinery — vaulted scaffolding, suspended drydocks, and utility arms the size of freighters. Dozens of ships under construction or repair hung suspended in silence.
And in the center: her.
The ISV Silver Lance.
An Arquitens-class light cruiser, its angular lines smoothed with modern retrofits. Twin ventral turbolasers, reinforced armor plating along the neck, and a new dorsal comms array glinting like a crown in the overhead light. Sleek. Fast. Meant to move before the enemy even knew what hit them.
Holtz whistled under his breath. "She's clean."
"She's lethal," Darran corrected. "And fast enough to make command think we won't need backup."
Lucan said nothing.
He stepped forward as a ground crew officer approached.
"Captain Virex?" the man asked, saluting sharply.
"Yes."
"Dockmaster Aeren, sir. Ship's yours. Cleared two hours ago. Skeleton crew is already aboard for systems sync. You'll need to confirm receipt and assume command formally at 0930. Transfer files are encoded and waiting in the core."
Lucan signed the datapad without hesitation.
"She combat-ready?"
"Drives are green. Weapons tested. No paint, no nameplate — they're waiting for your order."
Lucan glanced at Darran.
"We'll paint it later."
—
Thirty minutes later, the senior crew stood on the Silver Lance's bridge.
It was immaculate — fresh consoles, unscuffed deck plating, stations still running diagnostic loops. The scent of new polymer and power coil residue still lingered in the air.
Darran ran her hand along the helm console. "Feels like she's never flown."
"She hasn't," Lucan said. "We're her shakedown crew."
Holtz was already hunched over an access panel. "Engine room's got triple redundancy. Modified Sienar drive coils. If this thing breaks atmosphere at full burn, we'll leave vapor trails on hyperspace."
Tarris grinned faintly. "Flight profile reads like a corvette, but she hits like a destroyer. If we're lucky, nobody notices that until it's too late."
Lucan stepped into the command chair — not to sit, but to stand behind it.
"This ship is clean. Quiet. Fast. And unknown."
He turned to them.
"We were ghosts before. Forgotten by Command, dismissed by the fleet. Now we're something else."
Darran nodded. "Visible."
"No," Lucan corrected. "Sharp."
He tapped the display.
"Fleet Intelligence is still decoding the holodiscs. They've found references to supply chains stretching out to the Expansion Region. Multiple unnamed systems. No known rebel cells — yet. But the infrastructure's real."
Corren crossed his arms. "You think they'll assign us back to those lanes?"
Lucan shook his head.
"They'll tell us where to go. But we already know what we're looking for."
A quiet fell over the bridge.
They weren't patrol anymore. They weren't hunting couriers or following shadows.
They were the knife now.
Lucan finally sat in the command chair. It adjusted to his weight with a quiet click.
"Bring her online."
Darran turned to the helm. "All stations — wake up the ship."
Lights brightened. Systems booted. Turbolaser diagnostics flickered to life. The Silver Lance came alive like a heart remembering its beat.
Lucan stared out through the viewport at the Centares stars.
"This time," he said softly, "we strike first."