Empire Reforged
Chapter 4: Steel and Friction
Location: IPV-120 Vigilance, Docked at Centares Orbital Depot
Date: BBY 8 – 0500 Hours
The corridors were quiet.
Lucan Virex walked the length of Deck Two with slow, measured steps, his boots clicking faintly against the plating. Dim overhead lights traced thin bars of illumination across the worn walls. The ship's ambient hum had changed since the night prior—no longer erratic, just steady enough to be a ship again.
He stopped outside the auxiliary battery hold.
Two crewmen were inside, arguing over a tool kit and an access panel. One was Corporal Lin, a logistics technician. The other—Judder, a gunnery specialist—looked like he hadn't slept. Neither noticed Lucan watching them.
"I said rewire the diagnostic conduit, not yank the whole sublink offline," Lin snapped.
"Then use your words instead of grunting like a—"
Lucan stepped in.
Both men froze.
"Is there a failure in the backup systems?" Lucan asked.
Judder straightened. "No, sir. Just routine calibration. Bit of a disagreement—"
"Disagreement wastes time. This ship is not rated for internal ego conflicts."
Lin looked down. "Understood, sir."
Lucan stepped closer. "You'll both report to Lieutenant Darran at 0800 hours for reassignment to maintenance rotation. Four hours. Together. If either of you reports with friction, the next post you see will be waste recycling duty on Dantooine. Dismissed."
They scrambled.
Lucan turned back into the corridor, expression unreadable.
—
He entered his quarters for the first time since coming aboard.
The captain's cabin aboard the Vigilance was modest—three meters wide, six deep, a small desk built into the bulkhead, and a recessed bunk folded into the rear wall. One compartment held a wash station. Another housed a secured locker.
He dropped his datapad onto the desk and sat.
Outside the narrow viewport, the industrial ring of Centares twinkled faintly, its automated lights flickering in the orbital dusk.
Lucan leaned forward and activated the log system.
> Command Log – Entry 01
Lieutenant Lucan Virex – IPV-120 Vigilance
Assumed command as of 0500 local. Ship is operational, but barely. Crew cohesion poor. Maintenance backlogged. Morale fluctuating.
Command staff possess field knowledge but lack discipline. Internal routines neglected. Combat readiness: insufficient.
Immediate objectives: restore structural order, initiate performance standards, conduct first patrol route as scheduled. Secondary objective: assess crew loyalty under duress.
Recommend status reclassification to "salvage-capable asset" if performance thresholds met within thirty days.
Personal note: This vessel is a ghost. But ghosts can be taught to haunt again.
End Log.
He closed the console and leaned back in the chair. It creaked.
His fingers tapped the desk lightly, rhythmically, thinking.
This ship wasn't a stepping stone. It wasn't a punishment. It was a test.
And if it was a test… he'd pass it in silence and steel.
—
At 0700, Lucan called the department leads to the command pit.
The ship's main briefing room was less ceremonial than the mess, but more structured. A central holotable dominated the room, displaying a rotating image of the Beldiris Patrol Grid—three system nodes connected by thin white route lines, all blinking red with old signal data.
Selene Darran stood at Lucan's left. The others were arrayed in a semicircle—Holtz, Valk, and two others: Ensign Tarris, a young navigation officer with datachip implants; and Sergeant Corren, responsible for internal security.
Lucan activated the projection and let the image hang there.
"This is our patrol route," he said. "Centares to Beldiris Belt, then through Gorin Relay and back. Three systems, twenty-seven standard hours. Our objective is surveillance only. No deviation unless prompted by direct threat."
Corren frowned. "What kind of threat are we talking?"
"Piracy. Illicit signal beacons. Subspace disruptions. Any unauthorized traffic. You will treat every contact as hostile until confirmed otherwise."
Holtz raised a hand. "Gorin Relay hasn't been checked in half a cycle. If there's damage to the array, it could create ghost signals or nav drift."
"Then we compensate," Lucan said. "Navigation teams will double-check course tracking every two hours. If we drop out of hyperspace blind, we do it ready."
Valk leaned forward slightly. "What are the odds we actually run into something?"
Lucan glanced at her. "That's not the question."
She blinked. "No?"
"The question is: how fast can we respond when we do?"
—
The Vigilance detached from its cradle at 0900 sharp.
Lucan stood at the forward bridge viewport as the docking clamps released with a dull, mechanical clunk. The ship shuddered slightly—old hydraulics creaking from disuse—as thrusters fired in sequence and the vessel began to drift.
"Engines to twenty percent," Darran called. "Stabilizers holding."
"Navigation confirms path to jump corridor," Tarris added. "All systems green."
Lucan clasped his hands behind his back.
Outside the viewport, the starfield tilted slowly as the Vigilance turned toward the black.
"Bring us clear of the depot. Prep hyperdrive."
The hum of the ship changed, rising as the motivators warmed. On the bridge, lights dimmed to alert status. Blue-white lines of hyperspace plotting data danced across the upper screen.
"Hyperdrive ready," Holtz called. "Minor calibration drift within acceptable threshold."
Lucan gave a single nod. "Initiate jump."
The stars stretched into streaks.
And the ship leapt.
—
Three hours later, they emerged into the Beldiris system.
The transition was rougher than expected—older hyperdrive dampeners rattled the hull with a brief surge—but they emerged intact. The viewport filled with an expanse of dark, cold space dotted by asteroids, metal fragments, and distant gas clouds illuminated by a pale blue dwarf star.
"Local scan complete," Darran said. "No heat signatures. Passive sensor sweep is clean."
"Run a full sweep on relays and mining stations," Lucan ordered. "Then hold position at Grid Point Sigma."
The ship held formation as its sensor array came alive. The rotating dish on the dorsal fin twitched slightly, then stabilized. Lights across the bridge dimmed to signal full scan mode.
Lucan watched it all.
Every sound. Every flicker of motion. Every reaction from the crew.
So far, no panic. No signs of insubordination. Just focused activity.
That was good.
But the true test would come not in quiet space—but when the signal alarms finally screamed.
And they would scream.
Eventually.