The silence of the Manda system was absolute, a stark contrast to the expected roar of Ion engines and the cluttered signatures of a mercenary armada. As the fourth week of the tenth month of 20 BBY drew to a close, the 596th 'Maverick's Roughnecks' dropped out of hyperspace in a perfect Jump-Snap formation, weapons hot and shields cycling at maximum resonance.
Revan Shan stood on the bridge of the Sovereign's Grace, his black Beskar-filament cloak draped over his shoulders, hood pulled forward. He didn't look like a man ready for war; he looked like a man who had arrived at a party only to find the hosts had moved and taken the snacks with them.
"Admiral Kaine," Revan said, his voice carrying that familiar, sardonically light lilt. "I've seen more life in a vacuum-sealed ration pack. Where is everyone? I was promised a fleet of miscreants to audit."
"Scanning now, General," Admiral Kaine replied, his brow furrowing as he studied the long-range sensors. "The sector is clear. We're detecting lingering Ion trails and radiation signatures consistent with a large-scale hyperspace jump approximately forty-eight hours ago. It appears the Shadow Collective has evacuated the staging area."
Revan popped a lemon candy into his mouth, the tartness sharp against his tongue. "Well, that's the problem with being too helpful, isn't it? I leak their coordinates to start a three-way skirmish, and instead of staying to fight, Maul and his brother decide to find a quieter neighborhood. How terribly unsociable of them."
"General, the Grand Army of the Republic and the Jedi Council are requesting an update," Vice Admiral Lara noted. "Since the target is gone, they are looking to reassign our legion to one of the active fronts—either the outer rim sieges or a support role near the Core."
"Tell them the Maverick is currently 'evaluating strategic anomalies,'" Revan quipped. "We'll partner with GAR for the next deployment once I've had my morning tea. In the meantime, Admiral, keep the fleet in a holding pattern. I have some... academic errands to run."
The Warning: Dr. Smith and the Erso Project
While the 596th held position in the empty system, Revan retreated to the Black Pearl. He activated a Holographic Sith Training Droid, masking its appearance into the dotty, eccentric visage of Dr. John Smith.
The "Doctor" initiated a high-encryption uplink to a secure research station where Galen Erso was currently conducting his work on energy focusing.
"Galen, my dear boy!" the holographic Smith chirped, leaning into the sensor range. "You look exhausted. I've told you, the laws of physics aren't going anywhere; you needn't chase them so hard."
Galen looked up, a weary smile touching his face. "Dr. Smith. It is... difficult to rest when the Republic's demands for 'efficiency' grow every day. They are very interested in my work with Kyber crystals."
Revan's expression, through the hologram, turned sharp and serious. "That's why I'm calling, Galen. The galaxy is getting smaller, and people with your specific brand of brilliance are becoming high-value assets—or high-value targets. Your research into Kyber-fusion is magnificent, but in the wrong hands, it becomes a blueprint for something much darker than a power plant."
"I am careful, John," Galen insisted.
"Be more than careful. Be invisible," Revan countered. "I've taken the liberty of sending a gift. Ten HK-51 units are currently en route to your location via a stealth-shrouded transport. They are programmed as high-fidelity security assistants. They will protect you and Lyra with a level of... let's call it 'proactive enthusiasm' that standard Republic guards lack."
"Statement: I shall ensure the organic researcher remains un-perforated," one of the HK-51s chimed in from the background, its photoreceptors glowing a dull, lethal red.
"Thank you, John," Galen said, though he looked unsettled. "I hope it never comes to that."
"I hope so too, Galen. But never fail to be kind to yourself—and that includes staying alive."
The Big Short: A Five Trillion Credit Play
After concluding the call with Erso, Revan pivoted to a different kind of warfare. He remained in his Dr. Smith persona, joined by Cortana, as he initiated a conference with his financial trio: Kaelen, Vara, and Jax.
The holographic accountants appeared, their faces illuminated by the green glow of market scrolls and ticker-feeds.
"Gentlemen, Vara," Revan began, his voice taking on the smooth, calculated tone of a master investor. "The Maverick Trust is sitting on a gold mine, but I want to build a mountain. We're currently at 8.1 Trillion credits, mostly in stable anchors. I want to move a portion of that into a more... aggressive position."
"How aggressive, John?" Jax asked, adjusting his spectacles.
"I want you to take out low-interest loans against our primary investments—totaling 5 Trillion credits," Revan said calmly. "I want those credits used for a 200 times leverage position. We are going to short the major CIS-affiliated conglomerates: The Trade Federation, the Techno Union, and the InterGalactic Banking Clan."
Kaelen gasped. "John, a 200x leverage on five trillion? The exposure would be astronomical."
Revan nodded, his eyes cold and ancient. "Precisely. The total market exposure will be:
One quadrillion credits in short positions, set to expire at the end of next year, 19 BBY."
"You're betting on the total economic collapse of the Separatist infrastructure," Vara noted, her voice hushed.
"I'm betting on the end of the war," Revan corrected. "When the droids stop and the Separatist leaders are 'liquidated,' their corporate stocks will hit the floor. The Trade Federation will be dismantled, the Banking Clan will be nationalized by the Republic—or whatever the Republic becomes. We will be the ones holding the debt. It's not just a profit play; it's a way to ensure the Clone Retirement Trust can fund a million lives for a thousand years."
"If you're wrong..." Kaelen started.
"I have fifteen doctorates, Kaelen. One of them is in Advanced Mathematics and Logic Programming. I've run the probability," Revan smirked. "The house always wins, and currently, I own the house. Execute the trades through the 'Stable Rhythmic Anchor' shells. I want this invisible until the hammer falls."
Transition: Month 11, 20 BBY
As the week ended and the calendar shifted into the eleventh month of 20 BBY, Revan Shan returned to the bridge of the Sovereign's Grace. He was back in his Master's robes, the Dr. Smith mask tucked away in the Beskar safe.
He sat in his command chair, the nap angle set to a perfect 17.5 degrees.
"Cortana," he whispered. "Status of the 'Roughnecks'?"
"The 596th is fully refitted, Master. Fives and Tup are integrating well with the new ARC recruits. Admiral Kaine is awaiting orders from Coruscant. It seems the Council is considering sending us to Anaxes."
Revan looked at the stars, feeling the Force—a dense, vibrant ocean of potential. He had protected a friend, set a trap for the Sith, and initiated the largest financial gamble in galactic history.
"Anaxes. The shipyard world," Revan mused. "Lots of machines to break, lots of logistics to audit. Sounds like a wonderful place for an adventure."
He popped a final lemon candy and closed his eyes. The war was nearing its crescendo, and the Maverick was the only one who knew the ending of the song.
| Current Statistics: Month 11, 20 BBY | Value |
|---|---|
| Maverick Trust Credits | 8.1 Trillion (Base) |
| Short Position Exposure | 1 Quadrillion Credits (200x Leverage) |
| Clone Retirement Trust | 245 Million |
| Erso Security | 10 HK-51s Deployed |
| Revan's Mood | Financially Predatory |