---
Empire Reforged
Chapter 46: The Baited Line
Location: Chandrila Sector — ISV Silver Lance, Blackout Orbit
Date: BBY 6 — Day 113 of Operation "Glass Veil"
The stars shimmered over Chandrila like frozen threads of silk. The Silver Lance drifted just beyond the orbital perimeter, its systems quiet, hull camouflaged against long-range scans. No running lights. No active beacon. Just a shadow with fangs.
Lucan stood over the holotable in the command room, arms folded.
"All comm relays locked," Veya said from the console. "The false shipment manifest was uploaded twenty minutes ago. Tagged as 'sensitive military upgrade components' for Fondor shipyards — routed through a civilian courier flagged by our prior surveillance."
Lucan gave a curt nod. "Response?"
"Encrypted query ping from within the Eriadu logistics node. Low-priority layer. Took the bait."
He frowned. "Eriadu? That's not even in our active zone."
"Which is why we tagged it. They were never expecting something to trace back from Chandrila."
Lucan turned to the map. "They bit too fast. They've been waiting for a lead to break pattern."
Veya walked over. "Which means someone's scared."
Lucan looked at her, voice low. "Or exposed."
—
The next twelve hours passed in slow tension. The freighter with the false cargo sat docked at a civilian terminal. Intentionally left with minimal security, just enough to look convincing.
Then, at 0300, the trap closed.
"Alert," came Darran's voice from sensor ops. "Unmarked shuttle just departed Eriadu junction. No transponder. Vector matches intercept for our tagged courier. ETA: six hours."
Lucan leaned forward. "Silhouette?"
"Lambda-class, customized. Heat profile suggests stealth shielding. She's not logging any Imperial clearance."
Veya muttered, "That's a ghost ship."
Lucan straightened. "Prepare an ambush. We intercept just after docking. I want the passengers alive."
—
The Lambda came in quiet, just as expected. No alarms. No calls. Just a soft magnetic lock to the civilian courier's docking ring.
Ten minutes later, three figures stepped aboard. Two carried packs. The third held a datapad and moved like he'd done this before.
Lucan's team was already waiting.
Stun bolts dropped the two bodyguards instantly. The third tried to flee back to the shuttle, but Lucan tackled him himself — dragging him down hard against the decking.
"Name," Lucan barked.
"Frinn," the man gasped. "I'm just an analyst, I—"
Veya shoved her pad in front of him, displaying the false manifest he came to extract.
"You're more than an analyst. This coding structure is from Command-Level logistics. You're not freelance. Who are you really working for?"
Frinn swallowed. "I… I report to Oversight Cell K-12. Not full Intelligence. We're cleanup — protocol deviation watchers. We monitor imperial overreach."
Lucan narrowed his eyes. "You mean officers who ask too many questions."
Frinn didn't answer.
Veya glanced at Lucan. "K-12 was officially disbanded six years ago. At least on paper."
Lucan stood, voice hardening. "That cell's been feeding rebel sympathizers and sabotaging Imperial deployments under the excuse of internal policing. Someone's using it to gut the Empire from the inside."
Frinn stayed silent.
Lucan turned to Veya. "Secure him. Encrypt the comms. We take him directly to Centares HQ."
She nodded. "And the ship?"
Lucan stared out the viewport.
"We burn it."
—
Later, as the courier vessel drifted, empty and silent, Silver Lance opened fire with pinpoint precision. The fuel cells ruptured with surgical force — enough to destroy the physical evidence, but not erase what they'd extracted.
The trap had worked.
But what they'd caught was just the handler.
Not the hand behind him.
Lucan stood at the observation port hours later, watching stars blur in hyperspace.
Veya joined him quietly. "We've earned a brief respite."
"No," he said. "We've earned the right to ask louder questions."
She smirked faintly. "And you think anyone will answer them?"
Lucan's jaw tightened. "If not… we make them."
---