Chapter 17: THE IMPERIAL THREAD
The decryption took six hours.
I spent most of that time in the pilot's seat, running maintenance checks and planning approach vectors while Vex'ila worked in the cargo hold. The Requital wasn't designed for comfort—no separate quarters, no dedicated workspace. We made do with what we had.
Around hour four, I realized I was hungry.
The ship's food stores were minimal—emergency rations, mostly, plus some protein bars I'd picked up during my early Nevarro runs. I found a container that claimed to be "nutrient-optimized meal substitute" and tried not to think about what that actually meant.
The taste was somewhere between cardboard and regret.
Miss Earth food. Miss coffee. Miss anything that wasn't designed by committee.
The memory surfaced without warning: my grandmother's kitchen, the smell of real bread baking, my son's face covered in flour because he'd "helped" with the mixing. A lifetime ago. A universe ago.
I pushed it down. Later. Always later.
"Cole."
Vex'ila's voice came through the ship's internal comm.
"What did you find?"
"You should see this."
The holographic display showed a single file, expanded to fill the available space.
CLASSIFICATION: CLIENT PRIORITY REFERENCE: NEVARRO ASSET STATUS: ACQUISITION PENDING
"This was buried in the financial metadata," Vex'ila said. "Someone didn't want it found through normal channels."
I read the contents carefully. Transaction records linked to an entity identified only as "The Client." Payments to Guild contacts. Logistics support for "asset transportation." References to something called "the acquisition" that would require "specialized handling."
"They're buying someone from the Guild," I said.
"Looks like it. But look at the amounts."
She highlighted the relevant figures. My stomach dropped.
"That's a hundred thousand credits. For a single bounty."
"More than that. This is just the support payment to Draven's people. The actual bounty reward is separate."
A hundred thousand in operational costs alone. Whatever the Imperials were hunting, it was worth more than most planets.
Grogu. The child. The reason Din Djarin becomes the Mandalorian.
I couldn't say any of that. Couldn't explain the certainty burning in my chest.
"Cross-reference with public Guild postings," I said instead. "High-value bounties active in this sector. Anything that matches the timeline."
Vex'ila's fingers danced across her datapad. The holographic display shifted, pulling in external data.
"Three bounties over fifty thousand credits in the past month. Two are confirmed completed—targets delivered. One is still active."
"What's the active one?"
"Unknown asset. No species identification. No image. Just a tracking number and the notation 'asset of high importance—deliver alive.'"
She looked at me.
"Someone is hunting something so valuable they won't even describe it in Guild records."
"And paying Draven to help with local logistics."
"Which means Draven knows what they're after."
Which means we could know. If we ask the right questions.
The implications cascaded. If I could figure out when Din Djarin arrived—when the bounty became active in the field—I could position myself to observe. Maybe even to help.
Or to interfere. Or to make everything worse.
The moral calculus was impossible. I knew how the story was supposed to go. Djarin would capture the child, deliver it, have a change of heart, rescue it. The Mandalorian's entire arc depended on that sequence of events.
What happened if I disrupted it?
"You're thinking something," Vex'ila said. "Something you're not sharing."
"Just working through scenarios."
"Scenarios that involve the Imperial Remnant spending small fortunes to hunt unknown assets?"
"Something like that."
She waited for more. I didn't offer it.
"Fine," she said finally. "Keep your secrets. But if we're going to insert ourselves into this operation, I need to know when you're holding back."
"That's fair."
"Good. Then here's what I'm holding back."
She pulled up another file—one I hadn't seen before.
"I didn't just steal financial records. I copied their communication logs. Encrypted, but I've been working on them since we left the tunnels."
"What do they say?"
"Most of it is operational garbage. Supply requests, schedule confirmations. But there's a pattern in the metadata." She highlighted a series of timestamps. "Someone's been sending regular updates to an off-world receiver. Same time every cycle, same encryption signature."
"Draven's handler."
"Or his client's handler. Either way, there's a command structure above him that we can identify."
"If we can trace the transmissions."
"If we can trace the transmissions."
I studied the data. The timestamps showed consistent reporting—someone disciplined, methodical. Military training, probably. Imperial habits didn't disappear just because the Empire had fallen.
"We go in as partners," I said. "Offer Draven what he wants: the slicer back, the data contained, no exposure. In exchange, we get access to his Imperial contacts."
"And then?"
"Then we watch. We listen. We figure out what they're really hunting." I paused. "And when the time is right, we decide whether to help them or stop them."
Vex'ila's expression was unreadable.
"You've done this before."
"Different war. Same game."
Counter-insurgency. Hearts and minds. Playing factions against each other.
The Afghan mountains had taught me how to navigate tribal politics, how to build networks with competing interests, how to survive when everyone had reasons to want you dead. This galaxy wasn't that different. The weapons were fancier, but the people were the same.
"I need to know something," Vex'ila said.
"Ask."
"When it comes down to it—when we have to choose sides—what will you choose?"
The question hung in the recycled air.
What will I choose?
I thought about Grogu. About Din Djarin, a man I'd never met but whose story I knew. About the Empire and the New Republic and all the factions fighting over a galaxy that didn't know a transmigrated soldier existed.
"I'll choose whatever protects the people who've trusted me," I said. "Everything else is negotiable."
Vex'ila considered this.
"Fair enough."
She closed the display and stood.
"Let's go talk to Draven."
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