---
Empire Reforged
Chapter 48: Calm Waters, Gathering Storm
Location: Eriadu Naval Bastion – Sector Dock Alpha-3
Date: BBY 6 – Day 3 Post Operation "Glass Veil"
The Silver Lance was quiet for the first time in months.
Moored within one of Eriadu's orbital drydocks, its worn hull glimmered under lattice shields and droid-servitor arrays. Carbon scoring from skirmishes long past remained, unpolished. To Lucan, it was a mark of honesty.
He stood at the railing of the command balcony, arms crossed behind his back. Below, the hangar bays bustled with disembarking crew, technicians, and stormtroopers granted short-term planetary leave. Laughter carried faintly through open comms. Someone was playing an old naval cadence on a handheld transmitter. It felt… distant. Foreign.
Peace, no matter how temporary, always unsettled him.
Veya stepped beside him without a word. She wasn't in uniform — dark civilian attire, well-fitted and simple. Her hair was tied back. Even without the ISB insignia, the air around her hummed with calculated control.
"Crew manifests are approved. You've got seventy-two hours to let them breathe before fleet command yanks your leash," she said, handing over a datapad.
Lucan accepted it, but didn't read. "How long do you think this window will last?"
"Not long," she replied. "We're being reassigned."
Lucan finally looked at her. "New posting?"
Veya met his eyes. "You're being attached to Admiral Konstantine's task force. Officially to provide precision fleet coordination in unstable outer sectors."
Lucan's brow twitched. "And unofficially?"
"There's a cell operating under Saw Gerrera. Aggressive, well-armed, and willing to hit Imperial depots, transports, even civilian convoys. They're not part of the main Rebel Alliance command structure. ISB believes they're escalating toward a full insurrection."
Lucan exhaled. "So we're not just chasing ghosts anymore."
"No. Now we're chasing zealots with explosives."
---
Later that day, Lucan walked the civilian tier of Eriadu's upper orbital station alone. The architecture was cleaner than most sector capitals — permaglass walls, quiet walkways, and minimal security. A showpiece more than a fortress. Civilians wandered freely between vendor stalls, news terminals, and open lounges, many unaware of the chaos that brewed beyond their system.
He found Veya again, unexpectedly, in one of the cafés overlooking the starport dome. A teacup sat untouched in front of her. She was staring at a scrolling display of fleet casualties — dry numbers in a galaxy increasingly soaked in blood.
Lucan approached without comment and sat across from her. No uniforms, no ranks. Just silence.
After a while, Veya broke it. "You ever think about what comes after all this?"
Lucan tilted his head slightly. "After what?"
"This war. This Empire. The things we do."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked out the transparisteel window, watching a Gozanti cruiser rise on repulsors and vanish into low orbit.
"I used to think the Empire would last forever. That it was inevitable. Order from chaos," he said quietly. "But the more I see how it's run... the more rot I smell under the paint."
Veya didn't flinch. "Then why stay?"
"Because if it collapses tomorrow, someone worse fills the vacuum. And because there are still people worth protecting — even here."
She studied him, the way he spoke more than what he said. Finally, she nodded. "You're rare, Lucan."
He chuckled once. "I'm tired."
"That too."
A pause. Something passed between them — not warmth exactly, but understanding. Mutual gravity. She tapped the edge of her cup.
"When this mission starts, I'll be onboard full-time. Command's assigning me as your operations supervisor," she said with a faint smirk. "Officially to prevent mission drift. Unofficially to make sure no one buries what we've uncovered."
Lucan's smirk mirrored hers. "So I have a spook nesting on my bridge."
"Call it oversight with benefits."
---
Back on the Silver Lance, the crew returned in waves — recharged, if only slightly. Some carried market trinkets, others still wore the haze of overindulgence. But all of them moved differently now: tighter, surer. Two years ago, most were raw recruits. Now, they were veterans — blooded, tempered, and loyal.
Lucan stood before them in the main briefing bay.
"You've all earned your rest," he began, voice steady. "But we've been summoned again. This time, it's not smugglers or saboteurs. We'll be joining a multi-ship task force targeting insurgents operating outside the Rebellion. They're armed, desperate, and fanatical."
He paused, sweeping his gaze across the crew.
"This won't be clean. It won't be simple. But it will be necessary. I expect discipline, precision, and courage — the same you've shown since day one."
No cheers. Just silence and nods. They understood. That was enough.
Veya stood in the shadows behind the crew, watching. Not as ISB. Not yet. But as something closer.
Someone choosing to stay.
---