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Empire Reforged
Chapter 34: The Calm That Isn't
Location: ISV Silver Lance, Sector Driftline K-33
Date: BBY 8 – Approx. Week 9 Post-Centares Debrief
The Mid Rim slept with one eye open.
It had been weeks since the ghost corridor was uncovered — since the pilot with the outdated transponder had been quietly handed to Intelligence under sealed orders.
Lucan hadn't heard a single word since.
No debrief.
No reprimand.
No explanation.
Only a notice that the pilot had been "transferred to reassignment review."
That meant one of two things: he'd been recruited for deeper black work… or buried in a prison ship orbiting nowhere.
Lucan didn't like either answer.
But he understood both.
—
On the bridge, the Silver Lance coasted along a vector that used to be deadspace. Now it was something else. The number of freighters reporting anomalies had risen. Missing buoys. Power flickers. Ghost transponders on local scanners. Always dismissed as "stellar drift" or "asteroid debris."
Except Lucan didn't believe in coincidence anymore.
"Tactical scan complete," Valk reported. "We've swept the corridor twice. Passive scanners pick up no contacts, no beacons, no shadow pings."
"No interference?" Darran asked.
Valk paused. "One spike. Very faint. Heat bloom. Localized."
Lucan turned. "Where?"
"Outer ring of the Chel-Ko system. Mining ring 7A. Registered abandoned. Officially stripped four years ago."
Tarris brought it up on the holomap. "It's a scrap belt now. Occasional salvage crews, mostly unmonitored."
Lucan studied the red-highlighted region.
"Then it's the perfect place to hide."
Darran frowned. "Commander, this is the sixth system we've flagged this cycle. At some point, Intelligence has to act."
"They are," Lucan said. "They're watching what we do with what we find."
Darran arched an eyebrow. "You think we're the test?"
"I know we are."
—
They arrived at Mining Ring 7A twelve hours later.
A drifting graveyard of cut-up asteroids and cracked refinery arms. Old tunnels turned to ice, half-melted cranes spun in zero-G, and severed ore haulers drifted like dead whales in the void.
Corren ran the external sweep.
"No signs of recent damage. But thermal's off. Too much residual heat inside structure five."
Lucan leaned forward. "Deploy a microdrone. I want visual confirmation."
The feed came in blurry — static interference from the broken metal.
But then it cleared.
Inside one of the larger habitat modules was a cluster of new crates.
Standard Imperial storage units — stamped with blocky serials.
And beside them: a rack of fuel cells, weapon batteries, and several unregistered sensor buoys.
"Someone's been restocking," Darran muttered.
Valk's voice was quiet. "This isn't a hideout."
"No," Lucan agreed. "It's a forward depot."
—
They breached the module four hours later with Corren's team.
It was empty.
No crew.
No combat.
But fresh footprints in the dust. One open ration pack. A still-warm generator coil.
Whoever had been there, they left within minutes of arrival.
Lucan stared at the heat signature on the wall.
Not rushed.
Scheduled.
"They knew we were coming."
—
That evening, back aboard the Silver Lance, Lucan reviewed the deployment logs.
Six systems. Five compromised. Three confirmed illegal installations.
And all of them were quiet before his ship entered the grid.
They were responding to him.
Someone out there was watching their every move.
Testing reaction time. Patterns. Risk tolerance.
And still… no one from Imperial Command had intervened.
Lucan keyed in his log:
> Command Log – Entry 07
*Enemy movement confirmed. Pattern: not expansion — calibration. They're mapping the Empire's pulse.
Our presence is noted. Possibly expected. Possibly useful.
Conclusion: The next move will not be a test.*
He closed the file.
And ordered a system jump.
This time, not to investigate.
But to vanish.
Because if someone was mapping his shadow — Lucan was going to give them one they couldn't follow.