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Empire Reforged
Chapter 30: Dust and Brass
Location: ISV Silver Lance, Departing Centares Orbital Stack
Date: BBY 8 – Day 11, 0700 Hours
The docking clamps retracted with a final groan.
The Silver Lance rose from her mooring cradle like a drawn breath, silent and sharp. For the first time in days, Lucan felt the hum of readiness return to the deck beneath his boots — the slow charge of a ship untethered.
He didn't speak as they pulled free from Centares orbit.
He didn't need to.
His crew was already moving.
Darran stepped beside him. "New orders just cleared. Mid Rim patrol zone, but it's not random — we're being directed to the Sullustian Corridor. Civilian complaint flagged something unusual."
"Details?" Lucan asked.
"Freighter convoy drifted off-course near a disused Imperial relay station. Claimed they were pursued — but no contact confirmed. Flight recorders flagged inconsistencies, then power cut mid-transmission."
Lucan raised a brow. "Any cargo worth raiding?"
"Just fuel cells and construction spools. Barely worth scrapping."
"Which makes the report worse," Lucan muttered.
Darran nodded. "If someone's attacking civvies with empty holds, they're not pirates."
Lucan turned to the bridge.
"Tarris — plot a safe vector around the interference zones. Valk, flag any partial comm traces or energy signatures from the area in the last 72 hours. Holtz — prep emergency power cycling. If someone's spoofing relays, I want to control our own signal trail."
"All stations acknowledged," they replied nearly in unison.
Lucan sat back into the command chair.
It felt heavier than usual.
Not because of fatigue.
Because he could already feel something off.
And it wasn't just the mission.
—
Six hours later, they reached the fringe of the corridor.
It was empty.
Too empty.
Tarris leaned forward. "That's odd. We should be seeing nav buoys."
"They're gone," Valk confirmed. "Scrubbed. Scans show orbital debris, micro-fracture density consistent with high-velocity shrapnel. Someone hit them with precision fire."
Holtz grunted over comms. "That's military work. Pirates don't waste that much firepower on navigation markers."
Lucan frowned. "Which means this was deliberate. Someone wanted to erase the path."
Darran narrowed her eyes. "And keep the sector blind."
"Any sign of the convoy?"
"Not yet," Valk said. "But… wait—there. Passive trace. Hull signature. Drifting near orbital plane Theta-Four."
Lucan straightened. "Tarris, adjust heading. Prepare a boarding pod."
Corren's voice came up from security. "Ready and waiting."
—
The civilian ship was dead in space.
Powerless. Engines fried. One side torn open like a peeled tin can. Lucan watched from the bridge as Corren's team boarded under emergency protocol.
The visuals came in grainy at first — helmet cams flickering through residual EM discharge.
> "This is Corren. We're inside. Two bodies in the primary corridor. No signs of weapons discharge. They look… melted. Like something burned them from the inside out."
> "Bridge is wrecked. Systems slagged with precision burns. Log core's missing."
Lucan's jaw clenched. "Missing?"
> "Not wiped. Removed. Like someone took the recorder casing right out of the console."
Valk looked up sharply. "That's tactical. They didn't want to destroy evidence. They wanted to keep it."
Lucan stood slowly.
This wasn't a pirate raid.
This was a message.
And whoever sent it knew the Empire would come looking.
They wanted him to find it.
—
That night, Lucan stood alone in the Silver Lance's upper observatory.
The stars ahead glittered cold.
He didn't trust the quiet.
Didn't believe the stillness.
His crew had earned rest. But the war beneath the surface was growing teeth.
And Lucan Virex, child of forgotten quarters and cold bunks, didn't need orders to understand what came next.
Because something in the dark was no longer hiding.
It was hunting.