Empire Reforged
Chapter 6: What Remains After Fire
Location: IPV-120 Vigilance – Bridge and Tactical Stations
Date: BBY 8 – 1520 Hours
The Silverwake drifted across the Beldiris Belt, lights dead, engines cold. The ion burst had done its job—disabled her without compromising life support. Now she tumbled slowly between jagged asteroid fragments, a ghost with secrets sealed in her hull.
On the bridge of the Vigilance, Lucan Virex stood at the command console, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the tactical display.
"Tractor lock confirmed," Darran reported. "Target stabilized and aligned to airlock vector. No sign of external activity."
"Life support?" Lucan asked.
"Stable atmosphere. Internal temp holding. No hull breaches. One faint biosign confirmed on the bridge level."
Lucan turned toward the tactical display. The Silverwake's outline glowed amber—neutral, not yet hostile. But the lack of transponder, the evasive maneuvers, and the illegal jump attempt had already made the decision for him.
He tapped his comm.
> "Sergeant Corren, launch boarding team. Five personnel. Standard sweep. Weapons hot, non-lethal priority unless engaged."
> "Copy that, Captain," came the reply. "Boarding party moving."
A moment later, the Vigilance's dorsal hatch hissed open, and the docking arm extended across the vacuum between the ships. The umbilical sealed with a mechanical clang. On the screen, helmet feeds from the boarding team came online—five linked views flickering in the corner of the tactical overlay.
Lucan watched from above.
—
"Entry confirmed," Corren's voice crackled through the bridge comms. "Forward corridor is depressurized. Manual override initiated."
The interior feeds showed flickering red lights, a cramped hallway filled with loose cabling and makeshift plating. The freighter was old—patched together from salvaged components, clearly off-registry.
Lucan watched the team move room to room.
"Bridge ahead," Corren reported. "One humanoid life form. Seated. Hands visible."
Lucan leaned forward. "Restrain and secure. No damage to nav systems if avoidable. I want logs intact."
The video feed shifted. The pilot was middle-aged, face worn, eyes defiant even as his hands were bound and pulled behind his back.
"You took out my ship," the man said, voice distorted slightly through the mic.
"You ran," Corren replied.
"I've seen what patrol ships do in this sector."
"Captain wants you alive. So keep it that way."
Lucan said nothing as the team finished securing the bridge. He tapped another key on his console and began accessing the Silverwake's passive data returns—still feeding through the docking uplink.
He scrolled through the manifest.
Cargo: bulk rations, industrial-grade scrap, untagged medical kits...
And then: Container 9–Delta: Cortosis weave scrap, unrefined
That changed the equation.
Cortosis wasn't illegal. But it wasn't free-market, either. The Empire heavily monitored cortosis shipments—especially in the Mid Rim, where black market armorers had started outfitting mercenary groups with energy-resistant plating.
"Darran," Lucan said.
She stepped beside him.
"Unrefined cortosis," he said quietly, tilting the screen toward her. "Hidden in a junk load. They knew exactly what they were carrying."
Her brow furrowed. "Smugglers?"
"Maybe. Or part of something bigger."
He keyed comms again.
> "Corren. Divert to cargo hold. Begin internal scan. I want visual confirmation of container 9–Delta. Full spectrum sweep."
> "Affirmative."
Lucan folded his arms behind his back and turned to the main viewport. The Silverwake spun slowly in the distance, inertial dampers failing to compensate for the ion destabilization. It looked dead. But it wasn't.
It was hiding.
—
"Visual confirmed," Corren's voice came through. "Container 9–Delta marked with false export code. Not local. Origin glyphs suggest Outer Rim mining operation. No registration match."
Lucan nodded slightly. "Prep for towing. Once the cargo's secured, I want the Silverwake docked and sealed for hold inspection. Pilot goes to detention. Minimal force."
"Understood."
He cut the channel and turned to Darran.
"No logs get sent to the depot until I say otherwise. This isn't routine cargo."
Her tone lowered. "You think it's tied to something bigger?"
"Could be nothing. Could be a supply line for insurgents. I'd rather not announce we've disrupted it until we know who was waiting for it on the other end."
"You're going to sit on this?"
Lucan nodded. "We don't always serve justice by broadcasting it. Sometimes you wait. Watch who comes looking."
Darran didn't argue.
She simply nodded and returned to her post.
Lucan stood alone in the center of the bridge, his gaze still fixed on the drifting silhouette of the captured ship.
One freighter. One crate of restricted material.
Not a victory. But a signal.
The shadows in this sector were deeper than expected.
And something, somewhere, had just lost a shipment it wasn't supposed to