The final months of 122 BBY settled over Coruscant like a heavy, velvet cloak. For the rest of the Jedi Order, it was a time of continued prosperity—the High Republic at the peak of its golden complacency. For Revan Shan, it was the perfect time to audit the concept of "recreational structural support."
The Black Pearl sat silently in its secluded hangar, its Automatic Stealth Generator whispering a low-frequency hum that made the surrounding air shimmer. Inside the ship's primary workshop, Revan was surrounded by a floating array of Beskar-Phrik alloy struts, Cortosis-weave fabrics, and a pulsating Kyber-Quantum processing node. He wasn't building a weapon. He was building the "Sovereign's Command, Gaming, and Nap Station Mark I."
"You see, Cortana," Revan said, his eyes hidden behind polarized goggles as he utilized his Sonic Screwdriver to adjust the tension on a microscopic magnetic levitation coil. "According to my 4th Doctorate in Advanced Engineering and my 11th in Xenobiology, the human spine is a biological disaster. It's an evolutionary afterthought. If I'm going to spend the next ninety years waiting for the Sith to stop playing at being bankers, I require a seat that treats my vertebrae with the respect they deserve."
"You are utilizing 300 kilograms of Beskar-alloy and a dedicated Quantum-Informatics core to build a chair, Revan," Cortana noted, her blue avatar hovering over a schematic of the chair's built-in 'Vintage' latte dispenser. "The Prodigal Knight's satellites are currently tracking a localized disturbance in the Mid-Rim, and you are preoccupied with the lumbar support of a 'Napping Throne'."
" lumbal support is the foundation of galactic peace, Cortana!" Revan quipped, the 11th Doctor's manic enthusiasm lighting up his face. "This chair features a localized Force-Probability field to anticipate when I'm about to fall asleep and adjust the tilt accordingly. It's brilliant. I'm even building a second one for my secret corner in the Archives. The Librarians won't even know it's there; it'll just look like a very comfortable shadow."
The Audit of Naboo: A Report to the Wise
Leaving the droids to finalize the assembly of the "Throne," Revan made his way to the High Council chamber. He didn't enter with the somber gravity of a Knight; he strolled in, his black Phrik-filament robes billowing, and offered a lopsided grin to Grandmaster Yoda.
"Knight Shan," Yoda rasped, his eyes watching the Maverick with a piercing, yet amused intensity. "Back from Naboo, you are. Found the art and the water, did you?"
"Found a localized financial cardiac arrest, Master Yoda," Revan said, leaning casually against a stone pillar and popping a lemon candy. "Someone—likely the same 'corporate shadows' I mentioned before—had injected a data-virus into the royal plasma-ledgers. It was designed to mask a 30% predatory tax. According to my 9th Doctorate in Advanced Mathematics, it would have effectively turned the Naboo people into indentured servants of the Trade Federation by the end of the decade."
"And solved this, you did?" Master Sol asked, stepping forward.
"Audited it into oblivion," Revan replied sassily, pulling the Sonic Screwdriver from his belt. "I used this toy to bridge the logic-gates and purge the virus. King Veruna was very confused, but his accountants were thrilled. I didn't have to draw a blade once. Just a bit of 'vwoop-vwoop' and the ledger was corrected."
Yoda tilted his head, looking at the silver device. "A toy, you call it. But the Force... it felt your intent, Revan. The math you use is but a map; the kindness you show is the path."
"Try to be nice. Do good. But never fail to be kind," Revan said softly, the 12th Doctor's weary sincerity surfacing. "Naboo is safe for now, but the shadows are moving from the barracks to the boardrooms. They aren't trying to kill us, Masters; they're trying to buy us."
The Ancestor's Echo: Trusting the Current
Despite the "nap audit" and the chair projects, Revan's training remained rigorous. He spent his nights in a private meditation vault, the Personal Holocron of his ancestor projected in a shimmering bronze light.
"Ancestor," Revan said, sitting cross-legged as the holographic Revan paced the room. "I've mastered the variables of Form VI Niman. I can calculate the kinetic transfer of every strike. But I feel... a friction."
"Because you are still fighting the Force, descendant," the ancestor replied, his voice a melodic chime of ancient power. "You treat the Force like a series of equations to be solved. You audit the energy rather than becoming it. In combat, your doctorates are a distraction. When you ignite your blades—the Natural Red and the Balanced Purple—you must stop being a scientist and start being a ripple in the pond."
Revan closed his eyes, deactivating the part of his brain that reached for Physics or Dimensional Mechanics. He reached out with his "feeling."
"I see it," Revan whispered. "It's not a formula. It's a breath."
For the next four hours, the bay was silent save for the hum of his sabers. Revan moved with a preternatural fluidity, utilizing Force Enhance to blur his physical form. He didn't calculate his Force Repulse; he felt the pressure of the air and simply commanded it to expand. He didn't analyze the Sith Training Droids' logic-gates; he felt the flicker of their electronic intent and moved before they could process the command.
"Better," the ancestor conceded. "The Auditor is finally learning that some ledgers cannot be balanced with numbers."
Shadow Tag and Story Time
The mornings were reserved for the Temple's future. Revan had become a staple of the "Bear Clan's" daily routine.
"Master Maverick!" a young Rodian initiate shouted as Revan entered the gardens. "Is it story time or Shadow Tag time?"
"According to my 3rd Doctorate in Sentient Sociology, it's currently 'Play-and-Learn' time," Revan laughed, scooping up a tiny Twi'lek girl and setting her on his shoulder. "Today's story is about the Singing Whales of the Void, the Purrgil. Did you know they don't use hyperdrives? They use the 'feeling' of the stars to find their way home. Just like we use the Force to find a lemon candy in a dark room."
The ensuing game of Shadow Tag involved thirty-five younglings and a very high-speed chase through the Temple's lower colonnades. Revan utilized Force Meld and Force Jump to stay one step ahead, his black robes fluttering like a ghost.
The Masters and Knights occasionally paused their somber walks to watch the Maverick somersault over a fountain with five shrieking initiates clinging to his robes. Grandmaster Yoda, watching from a high balcony, merely tapped his cane in a rhythmic approval. Revan wasn't just playing; he was teaching them to see the Maverick in themselves—to trust the feeling of the joy.
The Satellite Ping: A Ghost in the Mid-Rim
The playfulness ended abruptly at midnight. Revan was tucked into his new "Throne" in the Black Pearl's lounge, testing the 360-degree swivel and the heated Beskar seat-plates, when the Kyber-Quantum console emitted a sharp, high-pitched chime.
"Cortana, report," Revan said, his tone shifting instantly into the clinical focus of the 12th Doctor.
"The Prodigal Knight's satellite network on Lehon has detected a localized gravitational anomaly in the Mid-Rim, near the Mygeeto sector," Cortana reported, projecting a star-map. "It matches the stealth-signature of the Bith-designed vessel we tracked on Bal'demnic. Revan... it's a Sith stealth-vessel."
Revan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Darth Tenebrus or Plagueis. They're moving toward the Banking worlds again. Utilizing my 7th Doctorate in Kyber-Quantum Informatics, can we triangulate their destination?"
"They are following a ghost-hyperlane," Cortana replied. "A route that was supposedly erased from the Republic's charts centuries ago. But the Automated Intelligence Satellite Probes are tracking the ionic-decay of their sublight engines. They are heading toward a secret shipyard."
"The Sith aren't genocidal today," Revan mused, his hand resting on the Sonic Screwdriver. "They're being corporate. If they're at Mygeeto, they're auditing the credit-reserves of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. They're building a financial fortress while the Jedi build meditation gardens."
*"Statement: Master, I suggest we initialize a 'Kindness Interception'," * HK-47 whirred, leaning against the doorway. His Beskar-Phrik plating gleamed. "Observation: Mygeeto is very cold. It is a perfect place for meatbags to experience localized frostbite before I 'kindly' terminate their financial accounts."
"No, HK. We observe," Revan said. "Adventure is the journey, and right now, the journey is one of data. Let them think they're invisible. According to my 10th Doctorate in Galactic History, the biggest mistake an empire makes is believing they're the only ones watching the books."
The Archival Throne
By the end of the week, Revan had successfully smuggled the second "Napping Throne" into his favorite corner of the Restricted Archives. It was a masterpiece of hidden engineering—looking like a simple, dusty stone bench until a specific Force-rhythm was applied.
He sat in the chair, the memory-gel conforming to his spine as he opened a data-crystal on Ancient Dimensional Mechanics. Beside him, M1-NR (Miner) was silently cross-referencing the satellite data from the Mid-Rim.
"Master Shan," Miner whispered. "The Sith vessel has entered the Mygeeto system. They have docked with a private Hego Damask facility."
"I know," Revan said, pulling a blanket of Phrik-weave over his legs and popping a final lemon candy. "Let them talk. I've got their frequency now. I've got the Prodigal Knight watching from the shadows of Lehon, and I've got the most comfortable chair in the galaxy."
He closed his eyes, the soft hum of the Archives providing the perfect soundtrack for his nap.
"Adventure is the journey, D6," Revan whispered to the R2 unit rolled up beside the chair. "And the journey for 122 BBY is ending exactly as it should. With a full ledger, a silent enemy, and a very good nap."
The Black Pearl sat in its hangar, its satellites whispering secrets of the Mid-Rim across the stars to the Maverick. Revan Shan was not in a rush. He was the Auditor. And the books were finally beginning to show the truth.