Chapter 106 · Names That Cannot Be Denied

Eli stepped forward, palms still open, trying to put himself between Kallus’s attention and Stent without making the movement look protective.

“We are not here to cause trouble,” he said. “We’re not Imperial. We’re not supporting the Empire. We’re traders. That part is true.”

Kallus gave a short, bitter laugh. “Traders.”

“Yes.”

“You arrive on Lothal asking questions about the Seventh Fleet. You spend two days noticing surveillance that most people never see, lose trained watchers in the middle of curfew, and your partner—” His gaze moved back to Stent. “—looks and moves like he walked out of one of Thrawn’s briefing rooms.”

Stent said nothing. That did not help.

Kallus took another step forward. “So forgive me if I’m having difficulty with traders.”

Eli looked at him for a moment. He had hoped not to do this. Names had become expensive things over the last few years. Every one they used opened one door and closed several others. Zieliv had been sufficient when they needed to move through places where Eli Vanto carried too much history behind it.

But Kallus had history of his own.

And Eli knew enough of it to understand that pretending ignorance now would only make everything worse.

“Colonel Yularen,” he said.

Kallus stopped. It was not dramatic. He simply stopped moving.

Around them, the rebels remained tense, weapons still held low but ready. Most of them showed no recognition beyond the fact that the name had affected Kallus.

Kallus’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”

“You were his protégé.”

The silence changed. Kallus looked at Eli properly for the first time. Not at his clothes. Not at his hands. At him. “Who told you that?”

“No one here.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I know.”

Kallus’s face hardened. “Then answer it.”

Eli exhaled slowly. “I served in the Seventh Fleet.”

One of the rebels shifted behind Kallus. Another muttered something Eli did not catch.

Kallus did not look away. “In what capacity?”

“I handled liaison work for Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

Stent’s eyes moved briefly toward him.

Eli felt it and ignored it. It was true. Carefully true. Not the whole true, but true enough. He continued before Kallus could interrupt. “Thrawn had business with ISB from time to time. When something needed to go through Yularen rather than through ordinary Navy channels, I sometimes handled it on the admiral’s behalf. Messages. Documentation. Coordination between commands.” Eli gave a slight shrug. “Your name came up.”

Kallus stared at him. “You expect me to believe you were a liaison officer for Thrawn.”

“I didn’t say that was my title.”

“No. You were very careful not to.” That, Eli thought, was the ISB officer showing through. “I’m being careful because you have half a dozen people pointing weapons at us.”

“Not at you.”

Eli glanced around. “Close enough.”

Kallus ignored that. “What did Yularen tell you about me?”

“Not much.”

“Thrawn?”

“Less.”

A flash of irritation crossed Kallus’s face.

Eli went on. “You were one of Yularen’s people. He trusted you. You had been assigned to the Seventh more than once. That was enough for me to remember the name.”

Kallus’s gaze sharpened. “And yet I don’t remember you.”

“You shouldn’t.” Eli held his gaze. “I defected shortly after Thrawn was promoted to Grand Admiral.”

For the first time since Kallus had entered the alley, something in his expression shifted away from anger and toward calculation. “You were in the Seventh Fleet.”

“Yes.”

“Close enough to Thrawn that he sent you to deal with Yularen.”

“Sometimes.”

“Yet somehow we never crossed paths.”

“The Chimaera carried several thousand people, Kallus.”

Kallus’s mouth tightened at hearing his own name from Eli.

Eli continued, quieter. “You worked with Thrawn when your assignments required it. I worked in a different part of the command structure. There’s nothing mysterious about us never being in the same room.”

“But you knew who I was.”

“Yes.”

“And I still don’t know who you are.”

There it was. Eli glanced once toward Stent. Stent gave him nothing. No warning. No objection. The decision was his.

Eli looked back at Kallus. “My name is Eli Vanto.”

Kallus went still again. Not recognition. Retention. The name being filed away somewhere behind his eyes. “Eli Vanto,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Rank?”

Eli hesitated. “Lieutenant Commander.”

A murmur went through the rebels. Kallus’s expression changed more noticeably this time. “Imperial Navy.”

“Former Imperial Navy.”

“Convenient distinction.”

“It became a fairly important one to me.”

Kallus studied him for several long seconds.

Then his gaze slid toward Stent. “And him?”

Stent met the look without moving.

Eli answered before Kallus could turn it into another accusation. “His name is Stent.”

Kallus looked back at him. “You’re answering for him now?”

“I’m saving time.”

“I was not asked,” Stent said.

Eli closed his eyes briefly.

Kallus stared at Stent. “Stent.”

“Yes.”

“And what exactly are you doing here?”

Stent did not hesitate. “His family sent me to find Thrawn.”

Eli kept his face still. That was a lie. Not an elaborate one, which was probably why Stent had chosen it. No invented unit, no false orders, no organization Kallus might know enough to question. Just family: private, distant, and almost impossible for an outsider to verify. Better still, Kallus had no reason to know what the concept of family meant to a Chiss, how different from the human meaning it was. He would hear the word through human assumptions and supply the rest himself.

Kallus’s eyes narrowed. “His family.”

“Yes.”

“Sent you across the galaxy looking for Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

“He is Chiss. His place is in the Ascendancy.”

Kallus looked from Stent to Eli. “And somehow you ended up travelling together.”

“I knew Thrawn,” Eli said.

“You served him.”

“Yes.”

“So his family sends a Chiss to find him, and that Chiss somehow finds a former Imperial lieutenant commander who used to serve under him.”

Eli could hear exactly how convenient it sounded when Kallus put it that way. “I knew where to start looking.”

“Did you.”

“Better than most people would.”

Kallus’s gaze stayed on him for another moment, then shifted back to Stent. “And his family trusted you with this?”

Stent answered without hesitation. “They trusted me to find him.”

Not quite the same thing, Eli noticed.

Kallus noticed too. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

“It is the answer.”

Kallus stared at him for another beat, plainly dissatisfied, then turned back to Eli.

“And you expect me to believe that’s all this is? Thrawn’s family sends someone across the galaxy to look for him, and that someone happens to find a former Imperial officer with exactly the right history to help.”

“I said I knew where to start looking.”

“You knew Yularen. You served under Thrawn.”

“I handled liaison work on his behalf.”

Kallus’s eyes sharpened. “That is not the correction you think it is.”

“It’s still a correction.”

“And now the two of you are on Lothal.”

“Yes.”

“As traders.”

“Yes.”

“Looking for information about what happened to the Seventh Fleet.”

Eli did not answer.

Kallus stepped closer.

There was no bewilderment left in him now. The information had arranged itself too neatly. “You knew Yularen. You served under Thrawn. You’re travelling with a Chiss who claims Thrawn’s family sent him to bring him back to the Ascendancy, and the first thing you do when you reach Lothal is start asking about the battle that destroyed Thrawn’s fleet.”

“We’re not here for the Empire.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the one I can give you.”

Kallus shook his head slowly. “No. It’s the one you’ve decided to give me.”

Stent’s voice came from beside Eli, low and controlled. “Be careful what conclusions you construct from incomplete information.”

Kallus turned on him. “Is that a warning?”

“No.”

“It sounded like one.”

“Then you misunderstood it.”

Weapons shifted around them.

Eli felt the situation tightening again. “Kallus.” The former ISB agent looked at him. Eli kept his voice low. “We’re not here to hurt your people. We’re not here to restore the Empire. Whatever you think my old uniform means, I’m not wearing it anymore. It’s been a long time since I last wore it. And I’d dare to say longer than you…”

Kallus’s eyes flicked over Eli’s civilian clothes. “No. You’re wearing a trader’s coat and giving me just enough truth to explain why you know things you shouldn’t.”

“I know things because I was there.”

“Exactly.”

Eli’s jaw tightened.

Kallus looked from him to Stent. “So this is what I’m supposed to believe. Thrawn’s family sends you to find him. You find Vanto, who served under him and knows the Seventh Fleet, and the two of you make your way to Lothal.”

“This is where Thrawn disappeared,” Stent said.

“I’m aware.”

“Then you understand why we came.”

Kallus’s gaze sharpened. “I understand why you would want to come. That isn’t the same thing.” Eli could see the old ISB habits settling into place now. Kallus had stopped trying to decide whether their story was possible. He was looking for the parts they had deliberately left out. “You arrive under false names.”

“Names that let us travel,” Eli said.

“As traders.”

“We are traders.”

Kallus gave him a flat look.

“At present,” Eli amended.

“And before that you were an Imperial lieutenant commander with access to Yularen and Thrawn.”

“I told you that.”

“You told me part of it.”

Eli said nothing.

Kallus stepped closer. “What happens if you find him?”

This time Stent answered. “I’ll take him home.”

“To the Ascendancy.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s all.”

Stent’s expression did not change. “That is my purpose.”

Kallus looked at Eli. That was the problem with interrogators. They knew when an answer had been constructed carefully enough that every word could be true while the whole remained incomplete. Eli held his gaze. “You believe him?” Kallus asked.

“Yes.”

That, at least, required no lie.

“You crossed half the galaxy with him because Thrawn’s family wanted their missing relative back.”

Eli hesitated.

Not because the statement was entirely wrong. Because correcting it would require explaining that family, in this context, carried political implications far beyond kinship; explaining where Stent had really come from, why Eli had been there with him, and just how far they had travelled before ever reaching Lothal.

Kallus saw the hesitation. Of course he did. “There,” he said quietly.

Eli’s expression hardened. “There what?”

“That part.”

“You asked a question.”

“And you decided how much of the answer I was allowed to have.”

“Considering the circumstances, yes.”

Kallus gave a short, humorless breath. “You told me your name. You admitted you served in the Seventh. You invoked Yularen because you knew it would get my attention. And your friend has given me a story about Thrawn’s family that I have absolutely no way to verify.”

Stent’s voice was level. “Then you understand why it was necessary to explain it.”

“No. I understand that both of you are very good at deciding which truths are useful.”

Eli could not argue with that without lying.

Someone behind Kallus adjusted the grip on a rifle.

Kallus’s attention stayed on Eli. “You came here looking for Thrawn. Fine. I believe that much.” Somehow that sounded worse than disbelief. “What I don’t believe,” Kallus continued, “is that you’ve told me everything that matters.”

“We haven’t,” Eli said. Stent glanced at him. Kallus went very still. Eli had no intention of pretending otherwise. “And I’m not going to. Not here. Not with people I don’t know and weapons pointed in our direction.”

“Then you understand the problem.”

“Perfectly.”

“Good.”

Stent shifted just enough to change the shadows around him. Kallus noticed. And the air between all three of them felt ready to break.

The alley was stretched taut — a wire waiting to snap.

Kallus held Eli’s gaze, waiting for the truth he knew wouldn’t come. Stent held Kallus’s stare, waiting for the threat he knew would.

The rebels waited for orders.

And then one of them made a mistake.

A young fighter at the rear, jittery hands too close to his blaster, took a half-step forward and barked, “Back up!”

Eli lifted both hands higher. “Easy—”

The kid panicked. His trigger finger twitched. The warning shot cracked into the metal wall behind Stent’s shoulder, spraying sparks and a hard metallic whine through the alley.

It was enough.

Stent moved. Not fast. Instant. A blur of precision that looked less like motion and more like a frame cut from reality and replaced with a better one. One moment he stood next to Eli. The next he was behind the young rebel, hand around the barrel, twisting the weapon clean out of the man’s grip before the kid even realized he’d lost it. He didn’t strike. He didn’t kill. He simply disarmed — perfectly, silently — in a single motion that left half the alley stunned.

A few rebels gasped. One swore under their breath.

Kallus didn’t gasp. Kallus remembered.And in his voice, the name escaped like a crack in armor he’d spent years building: “…Thrawn.”

Eli flinched. Stent didn’t blink. Kallus recovered too fast, signal snapping through the air like a whip. “Take them!”

The alley exploded.

Two rebels rushed Eli first, maybe thinking he was the soft one. They were wrong.

Eli ducked the first grab, pivoted, and slammed his shoulder into the nearest attacker’s ribs. The second swung a stun-baton — Eli caught the wrist, twisted, and drove a knee into the man’s thigh hard enough to drop him. Another grabbed his arm — Eli elbowed him square in the jaw, but the hit cost him his footing.

Three more circled.

Eli backed up fast, but not fast enough. Someone grabbed the back of his jacket. Someone else hooked his ankle. He went down hard.

Stent hadn’t been overtaken. Not yet.

Three rebels had moved on him — and all three immediately regretted it. Stent flowed around their attacks with a precision so clean it bordered on beautiful: minimal steps, sharp angles, economy of force. He redirected a strike, dropped one man with a single blow to the solar plexus, knocked another’s weapon aside with the back of his hand.

He would not win indefinitely. Not without killing them.

And Stent did not kill lightly. But he fought like the world was being measured by how still he could keep Eli alive.

Eli staggered to his knees—

—and felt the crack of a stun rod slam into the middle of his back.

White heat exploded through his spine. His breath ripped from his chest. The ground tilted.He collapsed, fingers clawing at the pavement. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the voice of the man holding the stun rod — calm, steady, unmistakably authoritative: “That’s enough, Vanto.”

Kallus.

Eli blinked hard, trying to get his hands under him, but his muscles refused to obey.

Stent saw him fall. That was all it took. He froze mid-motion. His stance shifted — not surrender, not defeat, but a blade sheathing itself by choice. Because if he continued, Eli would be unconscious on the ground surrounded by armed strangers. If he stopped… He could protect him when he woke.

Stent raised his arms. Slow. Controlled. “I will surrender,” he said.

Kallus lowered the stun rod slightly, breath uneven. “Bind them.”

Rebels swarmed.

Eli tried to sit up, anger and dizziness twisting through him. “Stent—don’t—you don’t have to—”

Stent met his eyes with a brief, steady look — the kind that carried entire instructions in a single second.

Stand down. Live first. Fight later.

Eli exhaled through clenched teeth.

Their hands were bound behind them. Weapons confiscated. Tee was kept back by three rebels with rifles trained on his dome, the little droid trembling with rage.

Kallus watched it all with a face carved from stone. “Take them,” he said. “Now.”

And the alley swallowed them.

The skiff rattled over the uneven terrain outside Capital City, its engine whining under the weight of too many bodies and too little maintenance. Eli sat wedged between two rebels, wrists bound behind him, the stun-rod ache still buzzing faintly beneath his ribs. Stent sat opposite him, posture straight despite the restraints, expression unreadable.

A thin morning light filtered across the flatlands. Dust curled in the skiff’s wake. The horizon was empty.

Kallus stood at the front, one hand gripping the railing, the other holding onto the bracing like he needed the cold metal to steady a thought he wouldn’t share. He didn’t look at Eli.

He looked at Stent. Again and again, in brief, sharp glances he tried to hide. Not fear. Not recognition. Something colder: confirmation.

Every small motion Stent made — a shift of balance, a turn of the head, the controlled cadence of his breathing — landed with the heavy familiarity of trained discipline Kallus had seen too many times under Imperial command.

When the skiff hit a bump and Stent adjusted his center of gravity without breaking line or posture, Kallus’s fingers curled tightly around the rail.

Eli saw the moment something settled into place behind Kallus’s eyes.

He had been looking between them for most of the flight, turning their answers over, testing one against another. Now his attention rested on Stent. “You don’t think he died here.”

Stent did not answer. He did not need to.

Kallus looked away first.

The skiff banked toward a low ridge, dropping beneath the line of the surrounding hills. Ahead, a narrow opening appeared in the rock, almost invisible until they were already approaching it.

Eli watched Kallus instead. The former ISB agent still did not trust them. That much was obvious. But distrust was no longer the real problem.

Kallus had started asking the right questions.