Daemon opened the newly accessible Legendary directory, finding that the vast majority of the profiles remained obscured and heavily restricted.
However, a select handful of files displayed an explicit identity.
“What is the status of these open files?” Daemon asked the AI.
“Are they cleared for immediate revival?”
They cannot be directly revived, Administrator, the Mainframe replied.
According to the foundational protocols established prior to cryogenic suspension, these individuals have pledged formal allegiance to your authority.
However, for assets of this immense caliber, a structural mandate carries zero psychological leverage.
Therefore, prior to physical revival, you must initiate a localized negotiation phase within a semi-lucid subconscious state.
If your terms align with their personal metrics, they will formally accept your command and enter service.
“So the visible files represent individuals whose internal metrics might align with what we can currently offer?” Daemon stared at the legendary names flashing across his screen, feeling a sudden wave of intimidation.
These were historic, towering titans pulled from the deep archives of various galactic settings, each profile carrying a legacy of absolute chaos, triumph, and ambition.
This was what the Legendary tier represented.
If this was the baseline, what kind of terrifying entities lay buried within the remaining two locked directories?
Correct, the Mainframe added.
Furthermore, should the negotiation phase conclude in failure, the individual will opt for permanent cryogenic suspension rather than conform to your authority.
However, if our infrastructure completely satisfies their baseline prerequisites at a later date, direct revival can occur without negotiation, though their material demands remain exceptionally steep.
Daemon nodded slowly, his eyes suddenly catching a specific file on the list.
A sharp grin broke through his grim expression.
If I need to navigate the political viper pit against Palpatine, this individual might be the exact weapon I need.
The person in question possessed zero combat training; any standard security officer under Daemon’s command could break him in a physical clash.
Yet, on the grand canvas of galactic governance, this man possessed the terrifying capability to bend entire stellar networks to his absolute will.
But he was a monster.
The man carried no inherent loyalty, no moral conviction, and zero concept of justice.
For him, existence was governed strictly by leverage, self-interest, and boundless ambition.
Everything was a transaction.
Yet, only a predator of that exact nature could survive a political duel against Sheev Palpatine.
Even then, Daemon couldn’t guarantee a victory.
He’s the one, Daemon decided.
When the timeline aligns and our leverage scales, I will initiate negotiation.
As for the long-term consequences of unleashing someone like that…
I’ll worry about it when the galaxy starts burning.
Right now, he had one single overriding objective: preparation for total war.
The Clone Wars would ignite anywhere from ten to thirty years from now on the galactic clock.
Survival in a total war that would consume every civilized corner of the galaxy was the only metric that mattered.
Everything else was entirely secondary.
Closing out the Legendary interface, Daemon realized his uniform coat was damp with cold sweat.
The reality of his position was a far cry from playing a strategy game on a screen.
When dealing with individuals who had sat at the absolute peak of their respective universes, his current assets felt incredibly small.
It made perfect sense why the Mainframe had locked these files until his own internal capacity had aligned.
Alignment, Daemon thought, leaning back into his chair.
He locked his gaze onto a metal container resting on his terminal.
Focusing his thoughts into a single, sharp vector, he reached out with his mind.
The metal container shuddered against the console before lifting smoothly into the air, drifting steadily toward his outstretched hand.
A flash of genuine satisfaction rippled through him, but the sudden break in his concentration shattered his grip.
The heavy container plunged downward, striking the durasteel deck with a sharp clang and scattering its contents across the floor.
I should probably authorize the revival of a few more maintenance workers, Daemon thought, looking at the mess before raising his gaze to the bustling crew on the deck.
He gave a slight, self-deprecating shake of his head.
The invisible current he was tapping into was undoubtedly the Force—the fundamental, omnipresent energy field that defined the Star Wars universe.
It was a supernatural force that bound the galaxy together, capable of reality-bending feats when channeled correctly.
In this galaxy, those who aligned with the light side of this current were known as the Jedi, while those who weaponized the dark side were known as the Sith.
They were the two factions that historically settled their ideological disputes with humming plasma blades.
The ancient history of the Galactic Republic was defined by their catastrophic wars against the old Sith Empire—a titanic clash between the light and the dark.
Ultimately, the Jedi Order had emerged victorious, systematically dismantling the Sith until the dark lords vanished entirely into the unseen shadows of the galaxy.
So, I’m Force-sensitive, Daemon realized, focusing his mind once more.
The scattered components on the floor twitched, rising one by one into the air, drifting toward a nearby waste bin.
They clattered noisily against the rim, with half of them missing the target entirely and dropping back onto the deck.
“Administrator,” Chief Jenson said, stepping up to the command chair.
He looked down at the loose components rolling across the floor before offering a sincere salute.
“My congratulations, sir.
You have awakened to a profound and powerful gift.”
“What do you have for me, Jenson?” Daemon asked, letting the energy current dissipate.
“Our strategic division has finalized a comprehensive restructuring proposal for our immediate defensive assets.
Requesting executive review, sir,” Jenson said, transferring a data file directly to Daemon’s central terminal.
Daemon scanned the structural outlines and industrial projections flashing across the monitor.
“Give me the summary.”
Jenson nodded, adjusting the readout. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
“Our primary vulnerability remains the defensive capability of the mothership itself.
Relying strictly on our current Interceptor-class fighters is a severe tactical liability.”
” To put it plainly, the baseline interceptor is little more than an unshielded metal box wrapped around a flight engine and a pair of projectile autocannons.
We require a higher tier of starfighter.
Fortunately, the mothership’s internal assembly lines are fully capable of starfighter production, allowing us to bypass the time and material costs of constructing an external shipyard for now.”
Daemon gestured for him to continue.
“We propose prioritizing the development of the Interceptor Mark II chassis.
If the research division can quickly break down the schematics, we can retool the active assembly lines to transition production.
Furthermore, we should initiate a parallel research project into basic infrared laser systems to completely replace the projectile armaments on the new models.” Jenson pulled up a three-dimensional blueprint of the proposed starfighter.
Daemon studied the schematics, recognizing the fluid, aerodynamic lines of the upgraded interceptor from the sequel to his childhood game.
It carried far better handling characteristics and structural integrity than their current models, but its offensive matrix remained severely limited, relying on a single rapid-fire autocannon.
Retooling their entire line for an entry-level laser upgrade from a standard stellar index felt entirely counter-productive.
Daemon knew exactly what kind of military juggernauts dominated this universe.
A marginal increase in standard fighter performance was nothing but a temporary band-aid.
According to his knowledge of the current era, the cutting-edge heavy starfighters of the Republic—like the multi-role ARC-170—possessed heavy shielding, hyperdrives, and devastating rear-facing laser cannons.
Against an armada fielding assets of that caliber, a fleet of unshielded, projectile-firing light interceptors would be swatted out of the void like insects.
He leaned forward, his voice firm.
“I will authorize the immediate establishment of a dedicated physics division to begin isolating basic infrared laser technology.
That research is a necessity.”
“And the Interceptor Mark II retooling?” Jenson asked, his stylus hovering over the terminal.
“The combat value increase of that specific chassis is too narrow to justify the industrial transition,” Daemon said, waving his hand.
“Increase production on our current interceptors until our active hangar counts reach exactly one hundred units.
Retain them as a baseline security grid while we wait for the laser weapons to clear development.
That is your immediate operational target.”
“But the structural integrity and reliability of our current interceptors are severely lacking, sir,” Jenson pressed, trying to advocate for his pilots.
“If an atmospheric or orbital conflict ignites, our flight casualties will be unacceptably high.”
“And you think switching to the Mark II will save them when a capital fleet drops out of hyperspace?” Daemon cut him off, his tone unyielding.
“We need a true, modern multi-role starfighter—something that possesses full atmospheric combat capability and true tactical leverage.
The adversaries we will eventually face are far more lethal than anything in our current database.
We cannot afford to waste critical time and resources manufacturing transitional stepping-stones.”
In truth, Daemon had already navigated through the tech directories and selected their true next-generation flight frame.
The CF/A-17.
The Ghost Starfighter.
An elite, cloaking strike craft pulled straight from the Terran archives of the Starcraft universe.