Empire Reforged
Chapter 7: Pressure and Silence
Location: IPV-120 Vigilance, Detention Bay
Date: BBY 8 – 1810 Hours
The lights in the detention bay were intentionally harsh.
Cold-white beams cast angular shadows across the durasteel walls, designed to disorient and exhaust. A single reinforced cell stood at the far end of the room, its energy field glowing faintly with pale blue light.
Inside, the smuggler sat on the bench, arms crossed, eyes red from the sting of recycled air. His wrists were bound, his left boot removed—likely to prevent movement, not for injury.
Lucan Virex stood beyond the threshold, arms behind his back, flanked by Sergeant Corren and Lieutenant Darran.
"He's said nothing of value," Corren reported. "Name's Holven Kerr. No ID matches in Imperial logs. No known gang affiliation. Scavenger background, probably Outer Rim bred."
"Attitude?" Lucan asked.
"Not afraid. Not suicidal either. Calculated type. He ran because he thought we wouldn't risk boarding, not because he was panicked."
Lucan nodded once. "I'll speak to him directly."
Darran raised an eyebrow. "You sure? We can keep the pressure going."
"No. If he's calculating, then he's waiting for someone who doesn't posture."
He stepped forward. The cell field deactivated with a muted thrum as he passed through. Darran and Corren remained outside, within earshot but silent.
Holven Kerr looked up.
"You the one who gave the fire order?"
"I gave the pursuit order," Lucan replied. "You forced the rest."
Holven snorted. "Right. Imperial logic. I try to avoid getting gunned down, and I'm the one at fault."
"You crossed into a patrol lane with no transponder and tried to jump blind when hailed. That's not survival instinct. That's evasion."
"No," Holven said calmly. "That's understanding the Empire. You don't ask. You take. I've seen patrol ships 'interrogate' freighters before. Airlocks open, cargo disappears, survivors dumped on penal colonies without trial."
Lucan's tone didn't shift. "You're alive. And your ship's still intact."
Holven leaned forward slightly. "Then that makes you different."
Lucan said nothing.
The silence stretched for a full five seconds.
Then he asked, "Where was the cortosis bound?"
Holven hesitated.
"I don't know."
Lucan raised a brow. "A man with no transponder, smuggling restricted material, just happens to not know his drop point?"
"I was told to deliver it to a relay beacon near Lancer's Drift. Supposed to ping a code and dump the shipment. Someone else picks it up. That's all."
Lucan's mind processed the implications.
Relay beacon delivery. Dead drop. That meant an organized network. Probably one of several. Which meant someone was coordinating smugglers across systems. Smugglers who knew how to operate off the grid.
"Who gave you the pickup coordinates?"
"I got them from a contract hub on Ord Mantell. No names. No face."
Lucan stared at him for a moment.
Then turned and walked out.
—
He stood at the bridge viewport an hour later, hands clasped behind his back. Outside, the Silverwake was locked into the Vigilance's secondary docking clamps, its engines completely disabled, its systems dark.
Darran approached quietly.
"You believe him?" she asked.
"Mostly," Lucan said. "He's not lying about the drop method. It's too specific. Coordinated dead drops are harder to fake under stress."
"You think it's Rebels?"
"Too early to tell. Could be a crime syndicate. Could be splinter groups testing Imperial surveillance."
Darran frowned. "This sector isn't known for rebellion."
"Which is what makes it perfect," Lucan replied. "No one watches the forgotten places until something goes wrong."
He turned toward her.
"I want a new patrol route drafted. After we drop the prisoner and secure the cargo, we're going to Lancer's Drift. I want to find that relay beacon."
"You think it's still there?"
"I think if it isn't, someone will come looking for why."
She nodded slowly. "You'll get pushback from Command if you shift from your assigned route."
"Then I'll tell them the Silverwake's damage forced us to adapt."
Darran smirked faintly. "You're learning to lie like a captain."
"I'm not lying," Lucan said. "I'm maneuvering."
She left with a small nod.
Lucan turned back to the stars.
First blood had been drawn. Not with blasters—but with leverage. There were names hidden behind cargo crates, routes carved through debris fields, messages buried in relay beacons.
And Lucan Virex had just found the edge of the web.
He would follow it—not for glory, not for vengeance—but for understanding.
Because understanding, in a decaying Empire, was the only real weapon left.