The Maiden Voyage of the Clandestine Vortex
The orbital drydock loomed in the darkness of space, its skeletal frame adorned with massive shipyards where the Galactic Empire’s might was forged. Suspended within its titanic grasp was a newly completed Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer, its armored hull gleaming under the floodlights of the construction scaffolds. The vessel’s designation was as imposing as its size—Clandestine Vortex—a name befitting a warship bound for missions few would live to speak of.
Aboard the Orrax Claw, Captain Torrin Vorrche, a Mon Calamari native, peered out of the reinforced viewport at the monolithic war machine. Even after decades of experience in ship engineering, Vorrche had never seen anything like it. The sheer scale of its power systems dwarfed anything he had encountered before. The vessel’s twin ISD-72x shield generators pulsed with raw energy, designed to withstand turbolaser bombardments that could slag cities. Deep within the bowels of the ship, its PS-502 Ion Reactor hummed like a caged storm, ready to unleash enough power to sustain an entire fleet. Magnificent.
Vorrche muttered to himself, eyes scanning the data scrolling across his console. “This ship could burn half the sector if the wrong people got their hands on it.”
But today, it wasn’t firepower that concerned him—it was logistics.
The Clandestine Vortex had been deemed spaceworthy, but it still needed to be moved out of drydock for its maiden voyage. And moving something this large wasn’t a simple matter of engaging thrusters. Twenty-four heavy tugs—including Vorrche’s ZT-800TF, the Orrax Claw—had been assigned to carefully maneuver the 1,600-meter-long behemoth out the gravity well of Kuat and into open space before its reactor could reach full power.
“Axel, Bolts, Crowbar,” Vorrche addressed his trio of R2 astromechs. “Sync up the movement sequences with the fleet coordinator and feed me real-time positional data. We’re going to need to make micro-adjustments the moment this monster shifts.”
The trio beeped affirmatives in their signature tones. Axel, the pink-accented leader of the trio, took the helm in navigation control. Bolts, the meticulous orange droid, began refining the tug telemetry, ensuring precise alignment. Crowbar, ever the problem solver, ran predictive calculations on mass shifts and gravitational effects to ensure the maneuver would be flawless.
As the countdown began, Vorrche adjusted his comms to the tug coordination channel. “All units, this is Captain Vorrche. We’re in sync. On my mark, cut main moorings and engage synchronized thrust.”
The other tugs confirmed receipt of the message one by one until all twenty-four had been accounted for.
The deep vibrations of decoupling clamps reverberated through the Orrax Claw as the massive tethers retracted. One by one, the tug-freighters engaged their powerful tractor beams or cargo clamps, gripping the Clandestine Vortex with synchronized precision. The vast warship began to drift forward, its sheer weight in the micro-gravity a challenge even for the best-trained haulers.
For a moment, everything was smooth. Then—
A warning klaxon shrieked through the comms. One of the tug-freighters on the starboard side suffered a catastrophic systems failure, its main thrusters cutting out and erupting into smoke. The fractional loss of control sent the Clandestine Vortex listing dangerously toward an adjacent Imperial warship under construction.
“Shit!” Vorrche swore, instincts taking over. “Crowbar, emergency vector corrections—now!”
A sharp bleep-bloop came from the green-accented astromech as it rapidly adjusted the reaction thrusters with the remaining tugs. Axel rerouted calculations on the fly, while Bolts relayed new compensatory power ratios to keep the formation stable.
Vorrche gripped the controls tightly. “All tugs, portside thrusters to one hundred percent! Starboard, adjust roll factor by three degrees to counteract drift. Engage stabilizers manually and brace for inertia shift!”
The tug-freighters groaned under the strain, but the adjustments took hold. Micro-corrections across the fleet stabilized the Star Destroyer just meters before a collision. The Clandestine Vortex let out a deep mechanical groan as it righted itself, slowly easing back into controlled movement. The moment passed, and the danger was averted.
Vorrche exhaled, rubbing a hand over his facial tendrils. “Remind me why I still take Imperial jobs?”
A smug beep from Axel was all the answer he got.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Vorrche shook his head and keyed into the Imperial command frequency. “Drydock Control, this is Captain Vorrche. Your Star Destroyer is clear of the yard. You might want to invest in higher quality contractors since it seems their ships can't handle the stress."
A stiff, obviously unimpressed voice responded. “Your complaint is noted, civilian. Proceed to designated exit lanes.”
Vorrche scoffed, cutting the channel. “Grateful as always.”
As the Clandestine Vortex began to power up its own systems for the first time, Vorrche couldn't help but feel uneasy. He had just helped launch a monster—one that would soon bring ruin across the galaxy. And yet, for now, all he could do was watch it drift into the void, ready to cast its long shadow across the stars.
Continue Hyperspace Lane
