“So, if you can cast aside your personal biases, you will notice that this doesn’t match the Trade Federation’s operational style at all.
If they truly intended to mine resources here, they would never approach it like this,” Qui-Gon Jinn noted.
“Let’s set a vector toward those stations and discover exactly who is running the refinery.”
“Wait a moment…
I have localized a massive thermal signature!” the co-pilot suddenly blurted out.
“It’s resting in a low synchronous orbit along the dark side of the moon.
Sensor tracking indicates…
by the stars, radar metrics display a total height exceeding forty kilometers!”
“A colossal orbital station?” Qui-Gon Jinn paused, visibly taken aback by the scale before his expression turned intensely grave.
“For a structure of that magnitude to exist far beyond the Core Worlds of the Galactic Republic…
its creators must possess monumental ambitions.
Alter our trajectory toward those coordinates.
Obi-Wan, attempt to establish a localized transmission link.”
“Understood, Master.” Obi-Wan Kenobi adjusted his comm-link, tuning the frequencies to the open public channels before broadcasting.
“Unidentified vessel, this is a civilian exploration craft.
We encountered severe gravitational turbulence while navigating the Moddell sector, resulting in minor structural damage to our primary systems.
We request clearance to approach for repairs and material replenishment.
Please respond.”
A brief window of static hissed through the speakers before a clear, composed female voice answered the transmission.
Civilian travelers, this is the pioneer colonial vanguard of the Fourth Group.
We acknowledge your transmission.
We trust your approach carries zero hostile intent.
“The Fourth Group?” Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a quick, silent glance, both mapping out a profound sense of confusion.
The Outer Rim.
The Albarrio Sector.
The Mygeeto System.
The Freelancer reverted to real-space, its hull materializing instantly within the absolute dark of the remote system.
Almost simultaneously, Daemon Kane’s armrest console chimed, picking up an encrypted hyperspace link from the mothership.
Though the vessel’s primary hyperspace core remained completely locked due to the unknown baseline error, its internal transmitter arrays possessed more than enough power to project real-time, long-range comms across the sectors.
“Is the thermal yield of the infrared laser assemblies genuinely insufficient?
Do we possess a method to boost the raw power output?” Daemon asked, his gaze fixed on the mini-screen as he spoke with Dr.
Susan Lin.
Not at our current industrial tier, Administrator, Dr.
Lin replied from her orbital lab.
The Interceptor-class frames utilize compact fission cores, which carry a heavily restricted energy output.
Forcing the infrared laser cannons to cycle at a higher discharge rate would require the integration of miniaturized fusion reactors.
That is the next technical milestone my division is aiming to isolate.
“Keep pushing, Doctor.
Until our teams complete the reverse-engineering files for the Ghost starfighter, focus entirely on maximizing the lethal output of our active interceptor fleets. The source of this chapter is novelping dot com.
Thank you for the update.
Have Chief Jenson patch into the line.”
Understood, sir.
A moment later, Jenson’s voice replaced the engineer’s.
Administrator, our primary production target of fifty Interceptor-class hulls has been finalized.
The engineering teams are currently cycling the frames through the assembly nodes in blocks, systematically stripping the old kinetic autocannons to mount the newly cleared infrared laser turrets.
“What are the field metrics?” Daemon pressed.
The static live-fire trials concluded with excellent data.
The compact laser turrets demonstrate a thirty percent increase in absolute localized damage compared to our entry-level projectile cannons.
However, their effective thermal degradation range is strictly capped at three thousand kilometers.
In the vacuum of space, that parameter cannot compete with kinetic payloads, which retain their velocity indefinitely.
But the trade-off is highly advantageous: we have entirely cleared out the bulky internal ammunition bays, significantly dropping the structural weight of the frame and drastically amplifying its flight agility.
Daemon nodded slowly, analyzing the tactical yield.
“Retool our flight schedules to emphasize energy-weapon combat training for the pilots.
Energy weapon systems will remain our primary developmental vector moving forward.
Within this galaxy, plasma and high-yield laser technologies represent the absolute apex of military engineering.”
And more importantly, as a dedicated energy-weapon purist from his strategy game days, he knew he had to climb the technical ladder until his foundries could mass-produce massive tachyon lances and arc emitters.
He ran a quick query through the civilian databases, discovering that as the domestic footprint of Dawn City scaled, two additional elite-tier scientists had cleared their revival thresholds: a localized network computer systems expert and a high-yield propulsion engineer.
This was precisely the talent their manufacturing sectors required; Daemon authorized their immediate awakening, directing them to reinforce Dr.
Walter Vance’s reverse-engineering division to accelerate development on the Ghost starfighter.
Next, Daemon navigated down to the master-tier archives, isolating a profile for a legendary Aerospace and Naval Design Chief Engineer.
Reviewing the individual’s structural prerequisites, Daemon let out a quiet whistle; the terms were brutally steep, demanding a fully functional surface wind-tunnel laboratory, a specialized low-orbit auxiliary shipyard framework, and a hand-picked staff of twenty elite engineering technicians before he would accept awakening.
Since there were no shortcuts to industrial scaling, Daemon forwarded the requirements log directly to Daphne Clement, mandating that the Ministry of Administration shift resources to satisfy the terms as quickly as possible so they could clear the Chief Engineer for revival.
As Daemon finalized his remote administrative ledger, the Mainframe’s high-priority alert chime sliced through his thoughts.
Administrator, I require an immediate executive decision.
Our primary orbital sensors have just intercepted an incoming transmission on our open public channel.
An unmapped vessel identifying as a civilian traveler is requesting permission to approach and board the mothership.
“A traveler?
Requesting boarding clearance?” Daemon’s focus sharpened instantly, a cold wave of suspicion freezing his thoughts.
“The Endor system sits entirely off the primary hyper-lanes; it sees zero casual traffic.
Furthermore, Quinto’s crew hasn’t transmitted a single outbound byte since we detained them.
Where did these travelers originate?”
The origin point remains unverified.
According to our historical sector navigation logs, the statistical probability of an unscheduled vessel entering this system coordinates by sheer happenstance is functionally zero.
“Patch the link through to my terminal,” Daemon ordered, his brow furrowing.
Acknowledged, Administrator.
Transitioning long-range hyperspace communication link now.
A flickering holographic pillar stabilized before his passenger chair, revealing a middle-aged human clad in a simple linen cloak, his posture perfectly calm and polite.
Greetings.
I presume I am speaking with the executive authority governing the orbital station above Endor.
I am Qui-Gon Jinn, a traveler.
Our vessel suffered a severe localized mechanical malfunction while navigating the sector’s currents.
We require an immediate maintenance berth and resource replenishment.
We request your hospitality.
Daemon paid absolutely zero attention to the beautifully crafted cover story.
His gaze was locked onto the man’s features, analyzing the serene posture, the specific tailoring of the unrefined cloak, and the calm aura radiating from the projection.
A single, sudden conclusion formed in his mind, and he spoke the words before he could check his instinct.
“You are a Jedi Knight, aren’t you?”
The holographic figure paused, a brief flash of surprise rippling across his features before a serene, knowing smile touched his lips.
I was unaware that the title of Jedi was stamped so clearly onto a traveler’s face.
Daemon’s expression turned entirely severe.
“Then perhaps you can clarify why an elite guardian of the Galactic Republic has suddenly materialized on the absolute edge of the Outer Rim?”
He had recognized the man instantly.
Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.
The features were an absolute, flawless match for the master he had watched on movie screens in his past life.
Daemon kept that realization heavily classified within his thoughts, allowing zero outward tells to slip past his composure.
Within the projection, Qui-Gon’s tone shifted, turning deeply observant.
The sudden emergence of a monolithic orbital facility within a desolate, unmapped system like Endor is a development that the Galactic Senate must naturally note.
Master, primary telemetry is verified!
That colossal structure isn’t a stationary orbital platform—it’s a self-propelled capital ship!
a second, youthful voice cut in from off-screen.
Qui-Gon’s expression turned remarkably solemn.
He locked his gaze onto Daemon through the transmission link, his words falling in a slow, deliberate cadence.
And that, Administrator, appears to be the exact reason the current of the Force guided me here.
Daemon severed the link, leaning back against the freighter’s passenger bench as he took a slow, steadying breath.
The strategic landscape was fracturing far faster than his industrial base could scale.
He had set a course for Tatooine to establish a quiet foothold near the Chosen One, only to be intercepted by a Dark Lord of the Sith, and now Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and a young Obi-Wan Kenobi had dropped directly onto his doorstep.
How had the Jedi Order pinpointed their coordinates so precisely?
The question remained a total black hole in his calculations.
But as the Freelancer cleared its approach vectors toward Mygeeto, one fundamental truth crystallized within Daemon’s mind: the coming storm that would consume the entire galaxy was entirely unavoidable.
Passivity would not buy them security; even if he chose to hunker down within the isolated forests of Endor and focus entirely on domestic construction, the major players of the galaxy would eventually find them.
And if he waited for them to dictate the terms, the Fourth Civilization would be wiped off the map before they could even draw their blasters.
He could not afford to hide in the dark.
He had to step onto the grand stage, navigate the shadow plays of the giants, and carve out a lifeline from the absolute jaws of a desperate gamble.
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