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Empire Reforged
Chapter 47: Paper Shields
Location: Centares Intelligence Hub, Outer Core
Date: BBY 6 — Day 118 of Operation "Glass Veil"
The Centares hub wasn't marked on any star charts.
Buried within a dead zone between trade routes and far from sector patrols, the facility didn't broadcast signals or emit traffic. Its only defining feature was its absence — a blank spot where sensors fuzzed out and probes lost telemetry.
The Silver Lance came in under escort. No requests. No clearance. Just a silent tractor beam that pulled them into a sealed docking cradle.
Lucan stepped onto durasteel with a straight back and tired eyes.
Veya walked beside him, datapad in hand, sharp as ever.
Ahead, a single officer waited. Imperial grey. ISB rank plaque. Clean-shaven, forgettable face.
"Commander Virex. Agent Thorne." The man's voice was neutral. "We'll take your prisoner. Your findings will be reviewed by Oversight. Debriefing in one hour. Briefing Room Nine."
Lucan didn't move. "I want to be present for Frinn's interrogation."
The man's eyes didn't blink. "That won't be possible."
"I captured him. He was targeting internal logistics — imperial targets. This isn't a standard rebel op. It's internal rot."
"And it's now our jurisdiction," the man said coolly. "You've done your duty, Commander. That will be all."
Lucan clenched his jaw. Veya placed a hand lightly on his arm. Not to stop him — just to remind him that she was there.
They turned without another word.
—
The debrief was standard. Too standard.
They laid out the evidence. The encoded manifests, the tampered supply chains, the ghost vessels and K-12 cell identifiers. The panel — three officers behind polarized glass — nodded occasionally. Asked no follow-up questions.
Lucan knew that kind of silence. It wasn't efficiency.
It was containment.
Veya answered questions with clipped precision. Lucan focused on body language. Noticed the delay when he mentioned Kuat. The way no one reacted to the mention of sabotage on Centares-bound war materiel.
He'd expected suspicion. Even resistance.
But this?
This was dismissal.
—
Back aboard the Silver Lance, hours later, Veya sat on the bench in the ship's war room, boots resting on a data case, staring at a holo of Centares orbit.
"You saw it too," Lucan said, standing by the viewport.
She didn't look up. "They're sitting on it. Burying the whole thing."
He nodded. "And Frinn?"
"Probably disappeared before the first question was even asked."
Silence lingered between them.
Lucan turned. "You think they're covering for someone?"
Veya's voice was quiet. "Or the rot goes higher than any of us thought. Maybe they're afraid. Maybe they're in on it. Doesn't matter."
She looked up at him now.
"You were right. The Empire's falling apart from the inside."
Lucan exhaled slowly. "And we're not supposed to fix it. Just clean the surface until it collapses."
A long pause.
Then Veya stood, adjusting her gloves.
"What now?"
Lucan stared at the stars.
"Now we go back to what we were doing before this mess started. Patrol duty. Pirate suppression. Convoy runs."
She raised an eyebrow. "Back to pretending none of this is happening?"
He shook his head.
"No. We just stop reporting every time we lift the rug."
Veya smiled faintly.
Lucan's tone stayed low. "If we want real answers, we'll have to find them ourselves."
And just like that, a quiet accord was formed — not spoken, not signed, but sealed in shared purpose.
Not for the Empire.
Not anymore.
But for something still worth saving beneath all the steel.
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