---
Empire Reforged
Chapter 45: Faint Signals
Location: ISV Silver Lance, Mid Rim – Atzerri Subsector
Date: BBY 6 – Day 108 of Operation "Glass Veil"
The command deck of the Silver Lance was dimmed for stealth protocols, the only light coming from holo-screens and filtered starlight beyond the viewport.
Lucan stood with his arms crossed, watching as a slow sensor sweep traced through a scattered debris field.
"Still no response from the merchant registry office on Atzerri?"
Veya, seated at the auxiliary console, didn't look up. "No. And local authorities say they have no record of the freighter we tagged. Either it never filed an arrival, or someone scrubbed the records after the fact."
Lucan narrowed his eyes. "That makes three ships in a row vanishing into paperwork fog."
"And all in sectors bordering strategic refit stations or deep logistics nodes," Veya added. "Too clean to be coincidence."
Lucan turned back to the viewport. "So we're chasing a network, not a single cell."
"Worse," she said, standing now. "We're chasing someone protecting it — from within Imperial infrastructure."
The thought sat heavy between them.
—
Over the past ninety days, the Silver Lance had hit six sectors. Each operation followed a lead — a ghost signal, a mismatched supply manifest, a mid-level officer transferred without trace. Each time, they found fragments: abandoned slicer tools, masked sensor relays, tapped comm buoys. Enough to confirm sabotage. Never enough to name who.
And each step forward felt more like pulling against the tide.
Morale held, barely. The crew trusted Lucan, but they were tired. Short rotations. Constant readiness. No shore leave. A few more weeks of this, and even the bridge officers would start cracking.
He needed something concrete. Soon.
—
A soft chime echoed. Veya looked at her terminal. "Encrypted return ping from Operation Glass Veil HQ. They rerouted one of our old leads — a customs manifest from Corellia flagged two months ago. Someone in Naval Intelligence triple-verified it."
Lucan stepped over. "Why now?"
"Because the shipment destination came up again. This time in Chandrila's outer dockyards. Exact crate ID."
Lucan's jaw tightened. "Someone's moving sabotage equipment from Corellia to Chandrila, through civilian channels. What kind of shipment?"
Veya brought it up. "Cooling valves, power capacitors, long-life relays. All standard for destroyer-class systems — but marked for medical station support."
Lucan stared at the display. "Perfect cover. And if they're building interference rigs or tap systems inside those casings—"
"They could be listening from inside any starship retrofit."
He straightened. "That's our link."
Veya nodded. "I can set a trap."
Lucan's voice was quiet now, focused. "One more jump. One more lead. Then we end this."
—
Four days later, they arrived in the Chandrila sector under full signal suppression. The target freighter was docked to a civilian inspection rig — registered under a shell company flagged twice before under different names.
Lucan ordered a silent boarding using masked Imperial ident codes. No fanfare. No lights. No announcement.
Inside the hold, they found standard shipping containers — sealed, tagged, and perfectly mundane.
Until Veya's scanner hit one.
She stepped forward and keyed the hatch open.
Inside wasn't a medical compressor.
It was a high-fidelity sensor core, stripped and rerouted, fitted with a burst transmitter tuned to frequencies used by Imperial sector command channels.
Lucan exhaled. "Not just sabotage. Intelligence laundering."
He turned to the deck officer beside him. "Quarantine this ship. Arrest every crew member. No civilian contact."
Then, more quietly, to Veya:
"We have one more thing to do."
She nodded. "Find out where this trail ends."
—
And they would.
But first — a name. A source. A handler.
And Lucan was ready to drag them out of the Core with his bare hands if he had to.
---