Chapter 64 · The Empire’s Veins

The lights on the navigation alcove were dimmed to keep the projections bright.

The Faded Glory drifted between jumps, navcharts sprawled across the holotable in a wash of pale blue. The hum of the ship filled the silence like a held breath.

Eli leaned on the console, stylus tapping the edge of the projection.

“All right,” he said, “let’s talk about what the galaxy looks like from here.”

He expanded the map until the Outer Rim spilled across the glass. “We’re sitting at Rago, right on the edge of the Western Reaches. From here, the hyperlane cuts through the upper sectors and drops us by Ansion. After that, we’ll be in range of the Namadii Corridor.”

Stent stood behind him, hands folded, eyes tracking the lines of light that represented civilization’s arteries.

Eli gestured toward the coreward spiral of routes. “The Namadii runs all the way to Dorin. From there, we’ve got choices — not good ones, but choices.”

He highlighted four lines, each glowing a different color on the map. Route A in red, B in orange, C in green and D in blue.

“The first option—Route A—follows the Perlemian Trade Route. It’s one of the galaxy’s main arteries: safe, efficient, and absolutely crawling with Imperial supervision. It starts at Coruscant, which I’d rather not see from orbit. We can cut around it through the Shwuy Exchange, from Palanhi on the Namadii Corridor. Then follow the lane toward Cantonica, swing down to Corsin, and use the Vaathkree Trade Corridor to jump onto the Perlemian again at Gizer. The Perlemian drops us near Makem, where we can take the Overic Griplink straight to Mon Calamari and then to Lothal.”

He exhaled. “Every jump is charted, every beacon is clean. But so are the Imperial records. It’s safe in the way cages are safe.”

Stent inclined his head slightly. “Predictable routes invite interception.”

“Exactly.” Eli zoomed out, drawing a new line across the holomap. “Route B avoids the Core. From Dorin, we’d take the Celanon Spur through Agamar and Axxila, then rejoin the Cantonica Corridor at Celanon. From there, it’s minor routes — Maridun, Arda, Felucia, Lianna, Murkhana, Mon Calamari, and finally Lothal. It’s slower, but less attention from the wrong kind of bureaucracy.”

“More jumps increase navigational error,” Stent noted.

Eli smiled faintly. “You make efficiency sound like a religion.”

He drew another line, thinner and jagged. “Route C stays on the Cantonica Corridor until, well, Cantonica. From there, we’d chart our own path through the gaps — manually calculated jumps until Troiken. From Troiken to Quermia, then rejoin the Overic Griplink for a clean run to Lothal. We’ve done uncharted sectors before. It’s not comfortable, but it’s doable.”

“Risk assessment?”

“Moderate. Assuming nothing big is hiding in the dark.”

He paused, drawing the final path — a long, looping curve. “Route D takes the Celanon Spur from Dorin to Ithor, then we find our way to Erokit. From there, the Braxant Run until Gowenee, the Satin Corridor until Columex, and then minor lanes through Iego or Toong’l. After that, we navigate blind until we hit Lothal’s local net.”

Stent studied the tangled web of lines for a long moment. “That is less a route and more a hope.”

“Yeah,” Eli said. “But sometimes hope’s the only thing they haven’t mapped yet.”

He sat back, rubbing his eyes. The galaxy on the holotable looked dense and impossible — every route a thread between someone else’s borders. “Civilian lanes,” he muttered. “Too open, too slow, too watched.”

Stent regarded him quietly. “Alternatives?”

Eli hesitated, then opened another file. The holomap shifted. A new lattice of routes appeared — finer, more intricate, and disturbingly close to every major system.

“The Imperial network,” he said. “Thrawn pulled this for me before… before everything went sideways. Grand Admiral clearance. These are Navy lanes — restricted, high-speed, invisible to civilian charts.”

The lines were so dense they looked like veins.

Stent studied them, unreadable. “You would risk interception by patrols?”

Eli’s mouth tightened. “The military network could cut travel time to half. But if we drop into a node where a Star Destroyer’s parked, and seeing how things are I’d say there are solid chances for that, that’s it. No running, no hiding. We’re not built for a fight.”

He stared at the blue lines, the pulse of the Empire’s secret arteries. “It’s strange,” he said softly. “You spend years inside the machine, and only when you’re outside do you see how alive it is. Breathing. Watching.”

Stent’s gaze stayed fixed on the display. “Then we move through its blind spots.”

Eli nodded. “Yeah. Carefully.”

He saved the data, the chosen routes glimmering faintly in the dark — every one of them dangerous, but all of them leading toward the same distant point of light.

The map rotated slowly, a cold swirl of blue and white.

He highlighted Dorin, a small bright star near the edge of the known routes. “We’ll stay on the Namadii until here. See what the traffic looks like, listen to the chatter. If the lanes are full of Imperial chatter, we’ll decide then which way to cut. Coreward, Rimward, or blind.”

“A provisional course,” Stent said.

“A cautious one,” Eli corrected. “The Empire’s everywhere. We might as well let it show us where it’s paying attention.”

He saved the route parameters, the screen flickering briefly before returning to the calm sprawl of stars.

Stent looked at him. “You distrust your own people.”

“I learned from experience,” Eli said. “And from the fact that we’re still breathing.”

The holomap dimmed. Only the faint hum of the ship remained.

“Dorin it is,” Eli said.

Stent inclined his head. “Observation before commitment. Efficient.”

Eli smiled faintly. “Practical.”

He leaned back in the pilot’s chair, eyes on the dark beyond the viewport. “Let’s hope the Empire’s too busy watching itself to notice us.”

The Faded Glory shifted course, her engines deepening into the rhythm of long travel.
Outside, the stars folded, and the ship slipped back into the blue corridor of hyperspace — toward Dorin, and whatever waited at the next intersection of the galaxy’s veins.

The Namadii Corridor unfolded like a thread of light ahead of them—clean, wide, and deceptively calm.
Traffic was sparse; most ships they passed were transports bearing the Imperial crest, gliding along in perfect formation, heading to the hyperlane entrance: the departure jump point. Even at this distance, their sensor signatures felt cold, deliberate.

Eli watched one go by, its hull lights marking the rhythm of the regime: steady, unblinking.

He remembered being part of that rhythm once. It had seemed like order back then—purpose carved into motion. Now it looked like surveillance given form.

“Anything unusual?” he asked.

Stent didn’t look up from his console. “Local transmissions indicate routine Imperial patrols. No evidence of escalation.”

“Good,” Eli said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Stent worked through ship diagnostics; Eli monitored the comm bands.

The silence stretched—too smooth, too quiet.

At some point, the Imperial channels began to bleed through faintly: encrypted chatter, bursts of code in frequencies Eli hadn’t heard since his academy days. He recognized the cadence of patrol relays, the careful pauses between reports.

It made his shoulders tense.

“Same pattern every thirty minutes,” he said quietly. “Sector sweeps. They’re not looking for traders.”

“Then they are looking for someone else,” Stent said.

Eli nodded, uneasy. “Let’s hope we’re not on the same page.”

He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. The map of the corridor glowed faintly on the screen: Rago, Ansion, Dorin.

Each name was a step closer to choice.

“Once we hit Dorin,” he said, “we’ll know. If the Empire’s that thick in the lanes, we’ll cut away—find a shadow to fly through.”

“Agreed,” Stent said.

Outside, the stars stretched, the ship sliding deeper into the corridor’s blue. The sound of the engines filled the silence again—steady, mechanical, almost comforting.

For now, the galaxy held its breath.