Chapter 88 · Residual Signals

Eli spent the first hours after their departure from Yitheen in a haze of motion—moving between the cockpit, the galley, the small work-station in the Faded Glory’s common room—everywhere except the bunk he should have collapsed into. Fatigue clung to him like dust, fine and persistent.

He had the data drive plugged into his datapad, its interface spilling encrypted strings of fleet jargon in pale blue lines. Thrawn’s old security protocols—some of which Eli still remembered by heart—pulsed like distant memories at the edge of the display.

They were a relic. But they still worked.

After two days, that thought sat poorly in his chest.

Tee beeped quietly from the corner where the technician had reassembled him—still a bit wobbly on his treads, dome patched and mismatched, but functional. His chirps carried a new cadence, clipped and curious, not quite the voice of the droid they had rescued.

Stent passed behind Eli, silent as always. He paused, eyes scanning the strings of data Eli was unpacking. “You should rest.”

“I know,” Eli muttered, rubbing a thumb under one eye. “I will. Once I get through this block of fleet routing.”

“You said that six hours ago.”

“I meant it then too.”

Stent didn’t push further. That wasn’t his way. He simply stood near the viewport, watching the starfield drift like a man memorizing constellations.

The next file decrypted with a soft click—another list of convoy assignments, all re-routed through obscure Outer Rim nodes. Eli frowned, leaning closer.

“This shouldn’t exist,” he murmured.

Stent turned. “Explain.”

“They pulled ships and supply lines from five different sectors for… nothing. No named operation. No attached report. Just a redacted chain and a destination code.”

Stent’s brows lifted a fraction. “Lothal?”

Eli shook his head slowly. “Endor.” He sighed “But there are missions going for Lothal for the last months: they weren’t Search and Rescue missions, but Retrieval.”

He felt a thread pull tight inside him. The same thread that had tugged them out of the Unknown Regions. The same one that had kept him awake for two days running.

He leaned back, exhaling. “The Seventh disappeared there. If they were on retrieval mode, it means there were some ships behind. That’s a clue for us to follow. All roads lead to Lothal.”

He didn’t realize he was gripping the datapad until Stent placed a hand on the table—close enough to draw his attention back to the room.

“Lieutenant,” Stent said quietly, “you are shaking.”

Eli blinked down at his hands. “I—sorry. I just… I think we finally have something solid.”

Stent studied him a moment longer before saying, “Then we proceed.”

Eli nodded, though the exhaustion made it feel like he was nodding through water.

The hum of the engines filled the quiet again, soft and steady.

Outside, stars drifted past the hull—uncaring, patient.

Inside, the wound of Yitheen’s loss lingered. And Eli kept reading.

They drifted close to the edge of a small trade lane two days later—close enough that civilian chatter began bleeding through the receiver, faint and crackling. Eli had set the comms to passive scan, filtering only public broadcasts, but even with the precautions, the voices felt intrusive after the quiet of deep space.

Most of it was noise. Traffic advisories. Price disputes. A weather report for a planet they weren’t approaching.

Eli sifted through it absently while the Faded Glory coasted on sublight. He wasn’t expecting anything useful—until one voice snapped through the static with enough sharpness to make him look up.

“…I’m telling you, the Empire’s panicking. Something happened on Klyssos. Rumor is—”

Another voice cut in, nervous and amused all at once. “Don’t say it out loud.”

“I’m serious. They say the Grand Admiral—Thrawn—showed up there.”

Eli felt his breath stop.

The channel flickered again, breaking on interference before a third voice joined, scoffing loudly.

“Thrawn’s dead. Everyone knows that. Probably propaganda.”

“Then why did three destroyers get rerouted to the Celanon Spur inside an hour?”

A pause. Then: “That’s not normal.”

“No. It isn’t.”

The line dissolved into static, but the words lingered.

Eli turned slowly toward Stent, who stood by the console with the same unreadable composure he always carried—yet something in his gaze had sharpened, like he had taken the information and immediately begun mapping its consequences.

“They think he’s alive,” Eli said, voice low.

“They think I am him,” Stent corrected. “That is the conclusion they will draw.”

Eli scrubbed a hand over his face. “Great. So now the entire Outer Rim thinks Thrawn walked out of his own grave to reprimand a relay station.”

“Rumor is information without structure,” Stent said. “It expands to fill whatever space fear provides.”

Eli snorted. “That’s… actually not wrong.”

Stent didn’t smile, but the edge of tension in his posture eased. “The Empire will now respond unpredictably. Patrols will increase. Inspections will tighten. Any presence of a Chiss in human space will attract attention.”

“Meaning us.”

“Yes.”

Eli leaned back in his chair, feeling the fatigue pull at him again. “Fantastic.”

A soft series of beeps sounded from Tee, who had been monitoring local broadcasts from his station. The little droid swiveled, projecting a clipped summary of traffic around the next minor world on their route.

Eli skimmed it. “Fuel, parts—and gossip. We should stop here.”

Stent joined him, looking over the data. “This planet is lightly patrolled. Low risk.”

“Low-ish,” Eli corrected.

Stent inclined his head. “Low enough.”

They exchanged a brief, wordless agreement.

Refuel. Pick up parts for Tee. Blend in. And move on before the wrong rumor reached the wrong ears.

The Faded Glory adjusted course toward the small blue-green speck ahead—just another out-of-the-way world on the edge of a galaxy suddenly waking to a ghost.