The descent into the Naboo plasma mines was like falling down the throat of a glowing blue beast. Theed sat atop a massive network of naturally occurring plasma reservoirs, and the infrastructure built to harvest this energy was a marvel of High Republic engineering—all sweeping archways and polished brass, even in the industrial sectors. But as the lift plummeted deeper into the planet's crust, the elegance of the surface world began to peel away, replaced by the raw, humid heat of the subterranean tunnels.
Revan Shan stood in the center of the lift platform, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark robes. He was currently trying to remember if he'd left the stove on in his temporary quarters, or more importantly, if he'd remembered to recalibrate the thermal dampeners on the Black Pearl's primary reactor.
"Always the small things," he muttered, the hood of his cloak casting a deep shadow over his face. "You forget one hydro-spanner and suddenly you're a fireball over the Mid-Rim. Not a good look for a newly knighted Maverick. Very poor for the brand."
A familiar, defiant trill echoed from the shadows behind him.
Revan froze. He didn't turn around immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes and let out a long, weary sigh that would have made the 12th Doctor proud. "D6, I distinctly remember—and I use the word 'distinctly' with a great deal of weight—ordering you to stay with the ship. To guard the ship. To be the ship's mechanical guardian."
R2-D6 rolled out from behind a stack of crates, his dome spinning with an air of absolute self-importance. He issued a sharp, staccato series of beeps and whistles that translated roughly to: The ship is fine. You are a magnet for trouble. My presence increases your survival probability by 43.7%. You're welcome.
"I don't have a magnetic personality, I have a curious one," Revan countered, finally turning to look at the droid. The blue light of the plasma shafts reflected off R2's Beskar-weave chassis. "And 43.7% is a very specific, very insulting number. Besides, you weren't formatted last month like I suggested. You're becoming independent. Independence leads to opinions, and opinions lead to... well, to you being down here when you should be up there."
R2 issued a long, mournful whistle that sounded suspiciously like a raspberry.
"Fine. But stay low. If we run into anything with a red lightsaber and a penchant for dramatic entrances, try not to get melted. Beskar is expensive, and I'm on a Jedi's budget, which is to say, I have exactly zero credits and a lot of 'good intentions'."
The Crime Scene
The lift came to a smooth halt at Sub-Level 4. The air here was thick with the smell of ionized gas and burnt circuitry. The mining operations had clearly ground to a halt; the massive plasma harvesters, usually humming with power, sat silent and cold.
Revan stepped off the platform, his boots making no sound on the metal grating. He didn't draw his lightsabers. Instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small, handheld scanner—another Earth-memory-inspired gadget he'd built during his Padawan years.
"Right then," he whispered, his voice dropping into a focused, rhythmic cadence. "Let's see what the shadows have been up to."
A few meters ahead, a trio of PK-series worker droids lay scattered across the floor. They hadn't been blasted or crushed by heavy machinery. They looked as if they had simply... stopped.
Revan knelt beside the nearest droid. He placed his bare hand on the cold metal of its chassis. He didn't use the Force to push or pull; he used it to listen.
Mechu-deru.
In his previous life, he'd been a fan of the technical manuals as much as the lore. Now, that knowledge combined with the Force allowed him to do something few Jedi bothered with. He closed his eyes, and the world of stone and metal vanished. In its place, he saw the "Digital Ghost" of the machine. He could feel the flow of electrons, the cooling traces of logic gates, and the whispered history of the droid's final moments.
"Oh, you poor thing," Revan murmured.
Through the Force, he traced the path of a surge. It wasn't a standard power failure. Something had reached into the droid's central processing unit and rewritten its core directives in a nanosecond. It was a surgical strike—a technopathic 'lobotomy'.
"D6, look at this," Revan said, pointing to a microscopic scorch mark on the droid's primary logic board. "This isn't a malfunction. This is an audit. Someone used a localized ion-burst, but they preceded it with a high-frequency override. They didn't want to destroy the droids; they wanted to see how they worked. They were testing the security response time."
R2-D6 plugged his computer interface arm into the mining console nearby. After a second, he let out a frantic series of chirps.
"I know," Revan said, standing up. "The logs are wiped. Cleanly. No brute force, just... elegance. It's almost a shame. I hate it when the villains are tidy. It leaves so much less for me to work with."
He looked deeper into the tunnel. The Force was cold here. It wasn't the roaring vacuum of a Sith Lord, but a thin, oily film of the Dark Side. It was the presence of someone who was still learning how to hide their shadow.
132 BBY, Revan thought. The Sith are still in their 'Rule of Two' hide-and-seek phase. Tenebrus? Plagueis? Or maybe just an acolyte like the ones from the movies I remember. Someone testing the waters of a galaxy that thinks the Jedi are invincible.
The Shadow in the Steam
"Stay behind the crates, D6," Revan commanded, his voice losing its whimsical edge. "And for once, actually do it."
He moved forward, his cloak billowing slightly in the artificial breeze of the vents. He kept his hands away from his lightsabers, focusing instead on Force Precognition. He wasn't looking for a fight; he was looking for a conversation. Or at least, a very well-informed observation.
At the end of the corridor, where the massive plasma containment vats loomed like silent titans, a figure stood in the steam.
The figure was slight, dressed in dark, tattered robes that seemed to drink the light. They weren't wearing a mask, but a heavy hood obscured their face. In the dim blue glow of the plasma, the shadow seemed to flicker, as if it weren't entirely anchored to the physical world.
"You know," Revan called out, his voice echoing through the chamber. "It's a bit cliché, isn't it? The brooding in the steam? The dark robes? I feel like we could have met in a nice café in Theed and discussed your technical grievances over a cup of blossom tea. Much more civilized."
The figure didn't move. But the Force in the room suddenly sharpened. A localized pressure built up, the air growing heavy with the weight of an unseen intent.
"You are not like the others," a voice whispered. It was soft, genderless, and carried a strange, melodic distortion. "The gold-and-white Jedi... they are loud. They shine too brightly to see the floor they walk on. But you... you are a shadow in the light."
"I prefer 'eclectic'," Revan replied, taking a casual step forward. He was testing the distance. He was measuring the air. "And 'gold-and-white' is very hard to keep clean. Do you have any idea how much the Temple spends on laundry? It's a systemic crisis."
The figure raised a hand. A pulse of raw, unrefined Force energy rippled through the steam. It wasn't a Force Push; it was a probe. A test.
Revan didn't draw his blade. He shifted his feet into the base stance of Form III Soresu—the ultimate defensive posture. He didn't meet the energy with a wall; he met it with a curve. He utilized Tutaminis, his hand rising to catch the leading edge of the ripple. He didn't absorb it; he merely redirected the kinetic energy into the metal floor beneath him.
The grating groaned, but Revan didn't move an inch.
"A student of the internal arts," the shadow whispered, a hint of curiosity entering the voice. "Who taught you to eat the wind, Jedi?"
"I'm a self-starter," Revan said, winking beneath his hood. "Read a lot of books. Did a few audits. Now, why are we messing with the plasma mines? If the power goes out in Theed, the Queen's hair-stylist is going to have a very difficult morning, and trust me, you do not want to deal with a disgruntled Naboo court."
The shadow moved then—not a walk, but a blur of motion that spoke of Force Enhance pushed to its limits. A flash of a metallic hilt appeared in their hand, but they didn't ignite it. Instead, they lunged forward, a palm strike aimed directly at Revan's chest.
Revan reacted with the fluidity of Form VI Niman. He flowed around the strike, his movements a blend of grace and pragmatism. He used a localized Force Stasis, not on the figure, but on the air directly in front of their leading foot.
The shadow stumbled for a fraction of a second—just enough for Revan to reach out and tap them lightly on the shoulder.
"Tag," Revan said. "You're it."
The Audit of the Unknown
The figure recoiled, a low growl escaping their throat. The steam around them began to swirl violently, caught in a miniature Force Storm. For a moment, Revan felt a flicker of something truly ancient and hungry—the core of the Sith philosophy.
But then, as quickly as it had built up, the pressure vanished.
"The Master was right," the figure said, their voice fading as they backed into the darkness of a bypass tunnel. "The Jedi are not all blind. But one eyes-open man cannot stop the night from falling."
"I have a very large torch!" Revan called after them. "And a droid with a built-in searchlight! We're quite well-equipped for the night!"
He started to follow, but a sudden, frantic beep from R2-D6 stopped him.
The mining console R2 was plugged into began to spark. Red warning lights flared across the chamber. The shadow hadn't just been testing the droids; they had planted a logic-bomb in the plasma stabilization system.
"Oh, you sneaky... they're going to blow the sector!"
Revan forgot about the shadow. He lunged for the console, his fingers flying across the controls. "D6! Slicing protocols! Now! I'll hold the physical conduits!"
He didn't use a hydro-spanner. He plunged his hands into the sparking machinery, utilizing Mechu-deru and Force Barrier to act as a living bridge between the corrupted computer and the physical valves.
"Try to be nice," Revan gritted out, his teeth clenched as electricity arced across his Beskar-alloy gauntlets. "Do good... but never fail... to be... KIND!"
With a roar of effort, he unleashed a pulse of Force Light directly into the machine's core. It wasn't an attack; it was a 'reset'. He flushed the Dark Side corruption out of the logic-gates with a burst of pure, focused intent.
The alarms died. The red lights turned back to a steady, peaceful blue.
Revan slumped against the console, his chest heaving. R2-D6 rolled up to him, let out a soft, worried whistle, and patting his leg with a small manipulator arm.
"I'm alright, D6," Revan panted, sliding his hood back to reveal a face damp with sweat but lit with a wide, manic grin. "That was... brilliant! Absolutely terrifying, but brilliant. Did you see the way they integrated the alchemical code into the ion buffer? Top-tier work. Evil, obviously, but top-tier."
He looked at the dark tunnel where the shadow had vanished.
"They're testing us, D6. Not the Order. Not the Republic. They're testing the system. They want to see where it breaks."
He stood up, brushing the soot off his dark robes. He reached into his pocket and found another candy, popping it into his mouth.
"Well," Revan said, his eyes glinting with the spirit of an adventurer who had just found a map to a hidden treasure. "They wanted to see where the system breaks. They didn't account for the fact that I'm the one who's been tinkering with the wiring."
He looked at the droid. "Come on. We need to get back to the Pearl. If they're playing with Sith alchemy and droid logic, I'm going to need a lot more Beskar. And maybe a fez. I've always thought I'd look good in a fez."
R2-D6 beeped a long, derogatory sequence.
"You have no taste in headwear," Revan huffed, walking back toward the lift. "Let's go. We have a galaxy to save, one witty remark at a time."