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Empire Reforged
Chapter 39: Patterns in the Ash
Location: ISV Silver Lance, En Route to Chandrila Defense Orbital Array
Date: BBY 7 – Day 4 of Operation "Glass Veil"
The Silver Lance moved with precision through the Core hyperlanes, its transponder cleared for silent priority access. No announcements. No escort. Only quiet authorization sealed in encrypted pulses that came and vanished like ghosts.
Veya Thorne sat alone in the observation room, watching the blurred streaks of hyperspace flow past the viewport.
Lucan entered without knocking.
She didn't turn.
"Your navigator holds a perfect spiral arc," she said quietly. "Not many ships maintain that at this speed."
Lucan walked to the opposite side of the room. "Corren used to be a racer. He sees the galaxy in curves and pull vectors."
"Efficient," she replied. "I approve."
He didn't smile. "I didn't bring him for your approval."
Now she turned, just slightly. "No. You brought him because you know what you trust."
Lucan nodded once. "And because I don't want to die over Chandrila."
—
The orbital array was less a station and more a coiled structure of weapon scaffolds, test bays, and sealed research cores suspended between three linked spires. It hung above Chandrila's pale green clouds like the blade of a guillotine, humming with low-level reactor energy.
Lucan stood beside Veya at the docking platform as the outer lock cycled open. She was back in her ISB field uniform — practical black, datapad holstered on her belt, sidearm low on her thigh. No decorations. No flair.
The station commander met them with a forced smile.
"Commander Thorne. Commander Virex. We weren't expecting personal attention from Coruscant."
Veya answered without hesitation. "You weren't supposed to expect us."
Lucan let the silence stretch.
They followed the commander through the facility's upper spine, past test labs, munitions control, and sealed simulation chambers. The walls were pristine. The lights too white. Nothing looked wrong.
Which meant something was.
—
By midday, they were inside a secured debrief room, reviewing the station's logs.
Veya scrolled without pause, eyes flicking across screen after screen of personnel movement, systems diagnostics, and access records.
"Who has clearance for these deep-core channels?" she asked.
The local security chief fumbled. "Only five of us. Myself, the chief engineer, our communications officer—"
"Stop," she said.
She turned the screen.
The comms officer's logs showed a series of encrypted outbound pings, all marked routine… but one stood out.
It had no return confirmation.
Lucan leaned closer.
"That's not a missed relay."
Veya tapped the timestamp. "That's a callout. A beacon to something listening."
—
Hours passed.
Lucan stood near the outer maintenance corridor as Veya interrogated the comms officer.
No shouting. No theatrics.
She just watched him — silent, focused — asking questions with the tone of someone who already had the answers. Every deflection, every blink, every nervous breath was logged.
She came out ten minutes later.
"He didn't know."
Lucan raised an eyebrow. "But he did it?"
"He was following a script sent by someone higher. From a source inside Imperial Intelligence."
Lucan exhaled slowly. "Internal sabotage again."
Veya nodded. "And we're still only seeing the lowest tier."
—
That night, in the ready room aboard the Silver Lance, Lucan reviewed their findings while Veya poured over a decrypted data cluster recovered from the facility's black box relay.
He looked over.
"You don't sleep much."
She didn't look up. "Sleep wastes clarity."
He tilted his head. "And when clarity becomes obsession?"
She met his eyes. "Then obsession becomes victory."
Lucan stared at her for a long second.
"I hope you're wrong," he said quietly. "Because if you're right… there may be no one left to enjoy it."
Veya blinked.
Just once.
Then she returned to the screen.