The Malastare system was a swirling vortex of high-stakes politics and volatile fuel reserves, a place where the scent of methane was nearly as thick as the ambition of the Dug Council. As the 596th "Maverick's Roughnecks" fleet exited hyperspace, they didn't emerge in the usual glorious flash of Republic defiance. Instead, under the calculated direction of Admiral Kaine, the three Venators—the Sovereign's Grace, the Uprising, and the Phoenix—slipped into the gravitational shadow of Malastare's third moon.
"Admiral, keep the signature dampened," Revan Shan's voice crackled over the bridge comms. He was currently in the hangar of the Sovereign's Grace, checking the seals on his custom Beskar-alloy gauntlets. "I want the Separatists to think the only thing coming for them is a light breeze and perhaps a bit of indigestion. We're not here to kick the door down just yet; we're here to see who's hiding behind it."
"Understood, General," Kaine replied, his voice a steady anchor in the chaotic flow of the war. "We are maintaining a 2x Dreadnought shield cycle. If the CIS fleet scans this sector, they'll see nothing but localized ion interference."
Revan leaned against the hull of the Black Pearl, his hood pulled low over his face. The air in the hangar was cool, but he could already feel the Force-echoes of the planet below. Malastare was a powder keg, and he knew exactly what was sleeping beneath the surface.
The Zillo Beast.
His Earth-memories were vivid. He remembered the tragedy of the creature—the last of its kind, awakened by war, only to be experimented upon and eventually killed in the heart of Coruscant because of Palpatine's greed and the Jedi's failure to see the creature as a living being rather than a tactical resource.
"Not this time," Revan whispered to himself, popping a tart lemon candy into his mouth. "Try to be nice, do good, but never fail to be kind. And it's not particularly kind to let a prehistoric marvel be turned into a science project for a Sith Lord."
The Surgical Scout
The Black Pearl detached from the flagship, its Automatic Stealth Generator tuned to the specific background radiation of the Malastare fuel flats. Inside, Revan sat in the pilot's seat, while Commander Check and a surgical strike team of 100 dechipped clones prepared their gear. These weren't standard soldiers; they were the "Roughneck" elite, equipped with Beskar-weave armor and Kyber-refined DC-15As.
"Alright, boys," Revan said, his voice taking on that eccentric, rhythmic lilt that defined his 'Doctor' persona. "We're going down for a look-see. The Separatists have a sea of droids, bunkers, and localized shielding that would make a Gungan jealous. Our job is to find the cracks in the armor. We thin the herd, identify the artillery, and we do it all without so much as a 'hello'."
As the Black Pearl descended into the atmosphere, the vastness of the CIS staging area became clear. Thousands of B1s and B2s were entrenching themselves around the primary fuel refineries. Massive J-1 proton cannons were being calibrated on the high ridges.
"D6, link to the Pearl's sensors," Revan commanded. "I want a full thermal mapping of those bunkers. Check, get your men ready for a silent drop. We're going to disable those artillery relays using the sonic frequency. It'll look like a mechanical failure rather than a Jedi intervention."
For three hours, the team moved like ghosts across the fuel flats. Revan used Force Stealth to mask their presence, while his Sonic Screwdriver did the heavy lifting, shorting out droid patrol units and rewriting the targeting logic of the artillery banks.
"General," Commander Check whispered over the internal comms, "I've tagged twelve heavy weapon droids and four localized shield generators. If we take these out now, the ground assault next month will be a walk in the park."
"Don't take them out yet, Check," Revan replied, eyes glowing slightly beneath his hood. "Just... loosen the screws. We want them to fail the moment the fighting starts. Efficiency is key. Why destroy a tank today when you can make it explode itself tomorrow?"
The Masquerade: John Smith and Mon Mothma
Once the initial scouting was complete and the Black Pearl was safely tucked into a high-altitude cloud bank, Revan retreated to his private quarters. He didn't rest. Instead, he activated a custom Holographic Training Droid, the unit shimmering into the likeness of Dr. John Smith.
Using a high-bandwidth uplink to a secure office on Coruscant, the 'Doctor' appeared before Senator Mon Mothma. Even through the hologram, Revan could see the exhaustion on her face.
"Mon," the Doctor said, his voice warm and witty. "You look like you've been arguing with the Tax Collection Committee again. I've told you, those people have no souls; they just have ledgers."
Mon Mothma smiled, a rare spark of genuine warmth in her eyes. "John. Or should I say General? I know you're currently 'busy' on the Outer Rim, but the Senate is becoming a circus. The Chancellor's latest 'Security Act' has virtually stripped the Mid-Rim systems of their judicial oversight. He's moving faster than we can track."
"He's a man in a hurry, Mon," Revan said, his tone turning serious as he adjusted his holographic mask. "The emergency powers are a slippery slope. First, it's security, then it's 'stability,' and before you know it, you're living in a galaxy where everyone has to wear the same color socks. My sources—and by that, I mean my own eyes—see the 596th being used as the 'gold standard' for why the GAR needs more autonomy. They're using our success to justify his control."
"What do you suggest?" she asked.
"Keep the pressure on the budget. He needs credits to fuel this machine. If the Maverick Trust continues to move assets into 'Stable Rhythmic Anchors,' it creates an economic buffer he can't easily seize. And stay close to Bail. We're going to need a loud voice when the music finally stops."
The meeting was brief but vital. Revan knew the war in the Senate was just as dangerous as the one on Malastare.
The Training Salle: The Maverick's Edge
To keep his connection to the Force sharp amidst the methane and politics, Revan initiated his bi-weekly training cycle. He entered the large training salle of the Sovereign's Grace, the door hissing shut behind him.
Session 1: The Sith Gauntlet
Revan stood in the center of the room as 15 Sith Training Droids ignited their crimson blades. He didn't draw his Westars. He drew his red and purple sabers, the hum filling the room.
"Show me Form VII," he commanded.
The droids moved with terrifying, erratic aggression. Revan didn't use his doctorates here; he used his feeling. He flowed through Form VI Niman, using the droids' momentum against them. He utilized Force Judgement, the green sparks of his light-side lightning shorting out the droids' primary sensors without destroying them. His 23,000 Midichlorian count allowed him to track all fifteen droids simultaneously, a masterclass in spatial awareness.
Session 2: The Ahsoka Protocol
He switched hilts, gripping his sabers in the unconventional reverse-grip. 50 Marksman-H Remotes ascended, circling him like a cloud of angry insects.
Zip-hiss-clack.
The room was a blur of violet and red light as Revan parried every bolt. This was pure speed training. He wasn't just blocking; he was redirecting, using Force Precognition to ensure every bolt hit another remote. By the time the timer hit zero, thirty remotes were disabled, and Revan hadn't moved more than a meter from his starting position.
Session 3: All-Out War
"Combined mode," Revan panted, a grin spreading across his face. "And Miner? Turn up the difficulty. I want them to cheat."
The droids and remotes engaged simultaneously. Revan became a whirlwind. He used Mechu-deru to seize control of a training remote and turn it against a Sith droid, while simultaneously using Force Repulse to clear a path. He was a shadow, a maverick, a storm.
The Silent Discovery
Between scouting missions, Revan reviewed the star-charts he had "liberated" from the High Republic beacon. He spent hours in his office, his Kyber-Quantum informatics degree (though he'd never admit it) helping him decode the gravitational anomalies.
"There it is," he whispered, staring at a small blip in the Unknown Regions. "A planet hidden by a natural gravitational lens. The readings for Kyber are... off the charts. It's a literal heart of the Force."
He carefully noted the safe paths, the 'gravitational anchors' that would allow a ship like the Black Pearl to slip through the anomalies without being crushed. This was his secret. Not for the Jedi, not for the Republic, and certainly not for Palpatine. This was for the people he cared about—the survivors.
Status: Month 4, 20 BBY
As the fourth month of 20 BBY arrived, the Battle of Malastare was officially underway. The 596th Fleet remained hidden, but their influence was already being felt. The Separatist artillery was failing at crucial moments, their droids were experiencing "logic loops," and the Republic ground forces were finding the path suspiciously clear of heavy resistance.
Revan Shan sat in his Sovereign's Command Chair, a cup of tea in one hand and his sonic screwdriver in the other. He looked at the holomap of the Malastare fuel pits.
"The droids are thinning, the Senate is arguing, and the beast is still sleeping," Revan mused. "Now, Cortana, about that electro-proton bomb the Republic is developing... let's see if we can't make it a bit more 'beast-friendly,' shall we? It would be a shame to ruin such a lovely creature's nap."
He popped another lemon candy. The adventure was just getting started.