The year 129 BBY began with a peculiar silence in the Jedi Temple, at least where Revan Shan was concerned. To the High Council, he was a model of "grounded" behavior—spending his hours in the archives or the Xenobiology labs. In reality, Revan was utilizing his 10th Doctorate in Galactic History & Advanced Archaeology to perform an audit of the galaxy's most magnificent trash heaps.
"Right then, M1-NR," Revan said, popping a lemon candy and leaning over a shimmering holographic map of the Mid and Outer Rim. "If we're going to do this properly, we need a definitive list. An 'Auditor's Guide to Galactic Refuse.' Most people see a junkyard; I see a structural opportunity to find things the universe forgot to keep."
The silver Librarian Protocol Droid, M1-NR (Miner), adjusted his optical sensors. "Master Shan, I have compiled the initial coordinates. The list includes:
* Lotho Minor: High concentration of discarded cybernetics and industrial runoff.
* Raxus Prime: A planetary-scale salvage yard with Old Republic era layers.
* Bracca: Currently a primary scrapping site for the Guild.
* Jakku: (Already audited, though secondary layers remain).
* Ord Mantell: Notable for its 'black market' salvage nodes."
"Brilliant," Revan grinned, his eyes sparking with the 11th Doctor's manic enthusiasm. "Bracca has some lovely mid-rim cruiser parts I've been eyeing. But first, we have a localized audit to perform. I'm in the mood for tea, and I've heard the best blend in the Lower City is served by someone who's seen more history than the entire High Council combined."
Infiltration of Level 1313
Leaving the Temple was a simple matter of utilizing the Black Pearl's Automatic Stealth Generator while it sat in the hangar. Revan didn't fly the ship out; he used a localized Force Meld with R2-D6 and Chopper to spoof the hangar's internal sensors, making it look as though he were merely meditating inside the freighter. In reality, he slipped out of a ventilation shaft, dressed in his black Phrik-weave robes, with his T-shaped helmet tucked securely in a lead-lined satchel.
The descent into Level 1313 was a transition from the gold-and-ivory pretense of the High Republic to the neon-soaked, industrial grit of the real galaxy. Here, the air tasted of ozone, recycled coolant, and spice-fumes.
"According to my 3rd Doctorate in Sentient Sociology, Level 1313 isn't a slum," Revan muttered to himself as he navigated the crowded walkways. "It's a localized ecosystem of survival. It's honest. Filthy, but honest."
He arrived at a small, unassuming cantina tucked behind a massive cooling manifold. The sign didn't have a name—just a pair of weathered goggles carved into the stone.
The Shadow Broker: Tea with Maz
Inside, the light was dim, smelling of ancient wood and exotic spices. Sitting at a small table in the corner was a creature no larger than a child, her orange skin wrinkled like a sun-dried fruit, her massive goggles magnifying eyes that seemed to pierce through the very soul.
Maz Kanata. 800 years old, and already the most dangerous source of information in the underworld.
"You have very old eyes for a man who looks like he's still waiting for his first gray hair," Maz said, her voice a gravelly rasp. She didn't look up from her tea.
"And you have a very large presence for someone who fits in a rucksack," Revan retorted, pulling up a chair and sitting down with a sassy flourish. "Revan Shan. Maverick, Auditor, and currently the only person in this room who knows you're hiding a stash of Pre-Republic jewelry in the basement."
Maz chuckled, a dry, rhythmic sound. "I like you. You don't smell like the other Jedi. You don't smell like incense and fear. You smell like... adventure and lemon candies."
She poured him a cup of dark, bitter tea. "So, why has a 'Maverick' come to see the Shadow Broker? Are you looking for the Sith? Because they are very quiet these days. They've traded their sabers for ledgers."
"I know," Revan said, his voice dropping into the 12th Doctor's clinical gravity. "I met Hego Damask. We had a lovely chat about interest rates. I'm not here to hunt them, Maz. I'm here because I'm looking for an audit of the 'Shadow Network.' There's a spice and slaver ring operating three levels down—The Pyke-affiliated 'Shrike' syndicate. They're disrupting the localized flow of kindness, and I've decided to correct the ledger."
Maz leaned back, her goggles clicking as they adjusted focus. "You aren't here for the Republic? Or the Council?"
"I'm here for the journey, Maz. And part of the journey is making sure the road isn't paved with victims. Try to be nice... but never fail to be kind. It's very unkind to keep people in cages."
Maz smiled, a genuine, toothy grin. "The Force moves through you in a very strange way, Revan Shan. Like a river that decided to flow uphill just because it liked the view. The Shrikes are in Warehouse 92-B. They have a shipment of Wookiee younglings and Twi'lek scholars. Go. Be 'kind' to them."
The Audit of Warehouse 92-B
Revan didn't kick the door down. That was too noisy. Instead, he stood on a nearby catwalk and utilized Mechu-deru to interface with the warehouse's security sub-routines.
"Right," he whispered, his fingers dancing across his Kyber-Quantum gauntlet. "Directive One: All automated turrets will now prioritize 'Localized Stun-Pulses' against anyone wearing a syndicate badge. Directive Two: The internal atmospheric vents will now release a localized dose of 'Sleep-Gas 7'."
Inside, the Pyke enforcers began to collapse like dominoes. Revan dropped from the ceiling, his black robes billowing. He didn't draw his lightsabers. He moved with Form II Makashi precision, using his Westar 35s on the stun setting to pick off the few who were wearing gas masks.
A massive Gamorrean guard charged him, vibro-axe raised. Revan didn't flinch. He utilized a localized Force Stasis, freezing the guard mid-swing, then delivered a gentle Force Push that sent the brute sliding into a stack of empty crates.
"According to my 1st Doctorate in Theoretical Physics, your momentum was a bit too ambitious for your structural stability," Revan noted sassily.
He reached the cages. With a flick of his wrist, he utilized Mechu-deru to shatter the electronic locks.
"Adventure is better when you're free," he told the dazed prisoners. "There are Republic security forces ten minutes away. I've already audited their response time. Go home. Try to be nice."
The Sentinel of Lehon: Activating the Prodigal Knight
Later that night, back aboard the Black Pearl, Revan sat at the main comms array. He wasn't looking at Coruscant's data-streams. He was looking at the tropical moon of Lehon.
"Cortana, establish the uplink," Revan commanded.
"Uplink established, Revan. The Prodigal Knight is responding."
On Lehon, the 3000-meter Harrower-class Dreadnought sat silent beneath the waves, but its "eyes" were now opening. Revan utilized the ship's Automated Intelligence Satellite Probes, launching a network of twelve micro-satellites into Lehon's orbit.
These weren't standard sensors. They were tuned with Kyber-Quantum Informatics to detect any ship signature—Jedi, Republic, or Sith—from three sectors away.
"Triangulate the localized stealth fields," Revan said, his fingers moving across the logic-gates.
> The Stealth Convergence Equation (S_c):
> By utilizing the satellites to modulate the planet's magnetic field, Revan was creating a 'Ghost-Node' in the Force. To any external observer, Lehon didn't just look empty; it looked like it didn't exist at all.
>
"Defenses at 95%," Cortana reported. "The Aegis Shields are integrated with the planetary core's thermal vents. The Stealth Fields are 98% complete. Lehon is officially off the map, Revan. Your vacation planet is ready."
"Brilliant," Revan sighed, leaning back and popping a lemon candy. "A 3000-meter dreadnought, a hidden world, and enough automated satellites to see a fly on a star destroyer's bridge. I'm quite pleased with this audit."
The Council's Blindness
Back at the Temple, the High Council was meeting once more. Master Sol presented the report of the dismantled slaver ring in Level 1313.
"The Pykes are furious," Sol said, his voice carrying a hint of hidden amusement. "They claim a 'Black Ghost' systematically dismantled their operations without firing a single lethal shot. The prisoners were freed, and the credits were donated to a local orphanage."
"Knight Shan?" Master Vernestra Rwoh asked, her eyes narrowing.
"His trackers show he has been in the Black Pearl for the last twelve hours, meditating," Master Sskeer hissed. "He is complying with the grounding."
"Meditation, perhaps," Grandmaster Yoda rasped, a tiny smile playing on his lips. "But moving, the Force is. A 'Black Ghost'... hmmm. Much kindness, there was in this 'audit'."
Vernestra looked at the report. She knew. But she also knew that if she accused Revan, she would have to explain how she knew—and that would lead back to Qimir. She chose the path of the bureaucrat: silence.
The Journey Continues
Revan stood on the bridge of the Pearl, looking out at the glittering lights of Coruscant. He felt the 12th Doctor's weary gravity in his chest, but the 11th Doctor's adventurous spirit in his hands.
"129 BBY is going to be a very busy year, D6," Revan said, patting the R2 unit's dome. "We've got a list of junkyards to visit, a dreadnought to polish, and a galaxy that's slowly forgetting how to be kind. But we aren't in a rush."
He pulled out the completed Revan Holocron. The ancestor's mask glowed with a soft, bronze light.
"The fortress is built, descendant," the Holocron-Revan spoke. "But a fortress is only a cage if you never leave it. Where does the audit take us next?"
"Next?" Revan grinned, popping one last candy. "Next, we go dumpster diving on Bracca. I've heard there's an old Old Republic medical frigate there that might have some interesting logic-cores. Adventure is the journey, D6! Let's go see some junk!"
The Black Pearl sat silent in the hangar, its stealth systems humming, its satellites watching the deep dark of Lehon. The Maverick was ready. The audit was continuing. And the galaxy was about to get a whole lot more interesting.