Coruscant in the third week of the eleventh month of 20 BBY was a world of sharp contrasts. In the upper spires, the Senate was abuzz with the triumphant return of Admiral Trench, though "triumphant" was hardly the word the Harch would have used. Chained in a high-security suppression field, the "Unconquerable" strategist was paraded through the lower courts, a living monument to the Separatist collapse on Anaxes. It was a PR disaster for Count Dooku and a shot of pure adrenaline for the Republic's war-weary public.
But for Revan Shan, the "Maverick" who had engineered the Harch's downfall, the victory was merely a ledger entry in a much larger, darker account.
He stood in the grand foyer of the Grand Army of the Republic's High Command building, his matte-black Beskar-alloy armor hidden beneath the deep folds of his filament-weave robes. His hood was up, masking his youthful face, leaving only the sharp glint of his eyes visible to the various admirals and bureaucrats who scurried past.
"General Shan," a logistics officer stuttered, approaching with a data-pad. "The High Command has reviewed your report on the Anaxes campaign. In light of your... unprecedented efficiency, the Chancellor and the Joint Chiefs have approved your request. Another Legion has been assigned to your permanent command, effective immediately."
Revan tilted his head, his voice a rhythmic, sassy hum. "Only one? I was hoping for a bouquet of them. But I suppose one will do for a start. Try to be nice, officer, but never fail to be kind—ensure the transfer papers include the full maintenance logs. I hate surprises, especially the kind that involve faulty hyperdrives."
Without waiting for a reply, he swept past, his gauntlet humming as Cortana began the integration protocols.
The Audit: Expanding the Maverick's reach
While the rest of the 596th "Maverick's Roughnecks" began their well-earned holiday shore leave in the glittering districts of Coruscant, Cortana was working at the speed of a Kyber-quantum processor. Revan sat in the quiet corner of a high-end caf, sipping a spice-latte and watching the holographic data stream.
"Master, the new reinforcements are substantial," Cortana reported. "I have completed the initial audit of the 597th Legion."
> Integration Log: 597th Legion Reinforcements
> * Troops: 32,000 Clone Troopers (Dechipping protocols initiated under 'Routine Medical Scans').
> * Naval Assets: 3 Venator I-class Star Destroyers (The Arbitrator, The Resolute Soul, The Vanguard), 9 Acclamator-class ships, 36 Arquitens-class light cruisers.
> * Starfighters: 120 ARC-170s, 480 Z-95 Headhunters, 240 Y-Wing Bombers.
> * Heavy Support: 400 AT-TE walkers.
>
"Excellent," Revan murmured. "And the equipment?"
"The manufacturing error rate is within standard margins, but I am already drafting the upgrade schedules for the 2x Dreadnought shielding and Class 0.75 hyperdrive refits. Calculated integration efficiency (I_e) follows the Maverick standard:
We will have them battle-ready and dechipped before the end of the year."
Revan smiled. "Good. A free army is an efficient army. Let's make sure they get the same 'Maverick' bonus as the 596th. If they're going to fight for me, they're going to be paid for it."
The Maverick Switch: From Master to Doctor
The Black Pearl sat in one of the Jedi Temple's private hangars, looking like a sleek, dangerous shadow among the more utilitarian Delta-7s. Revan had docked it there with a theatrical flourish, making sure the Temple guards saw "Master Shan" enter the archives.
Inside, he used Force Stealth and his knowledge of the Temple's ancient ventilation shafts to circle back to a hidden hatch. Waiting in a shielded secondary bay was the Star-Sass, his upgraded X-Wing. He had prepositioned it weeks ago, masked by a localized Stygium field.
He shed the Jedi robes, revealing the sharp, eccentric suit of Dr. John Smith. He checked the silver-phrik Sonic Screwdriver on his belt and adjusted his glasses.
"Cortana, engage the Stygium array. We're going to Chandrila. I have a meeting with the only two people in the Senate who aren't currently auditioning for a role in a tragedy."
The Star-Sass slipped out of the Temple hangar, a ghost in the Coruscant traffic. Using its Class 0.5 Hyperdrive, the trip to Chandrila was a mere heartbeat.
The Chandrila Summit: Echoes of Resistance
The Maverick Research Institute on Chandrila was a sprawling complex of gleaming white stone and lush gardens. In a private conservatory shielded against even the most advanced Senate surveillance, Dr. John Smith stood waiting.
Mon Mothma and Bail Organa entered, their expressions guarded but relieved.
"John," Bail said, extending a hand. "The news from Anaxes... it was a miracle. But the mood in the Senate is anything but celebratory. The Chancellor is using the victory to push for even more centralized executive oversight."
"Ah, yes. Centralization. The favorite hobby of people who are afraid of their own shadows," the 'Doctor' quipped, handing them each a small, exquisitely wrapped box of lemon candies. "Try those. They help with the bitterness of political reality."
Mon Mothma looked at the candies, then at the man who had funded her last three planetary ecology initiatives. "John, why did you ask us here? Every eye in the Core is on the war."
"Because the war is a distraction, Mon. It's a very loud, very expensive magic trick," Revan said, his tone turning grounded and serious. "The Chancellor is mapping the galaxy's financial and military nodes into a single web. And he's the spider. You two are trying to fight him with speeches. That's like trying to stop a supernova with a sternly worded letter."
He reached into his coat and pulled out an encrypted comm-link, pulsing with a Kyber-cyan light.
"I'm giving you a contact," Revan continued. "His name isn't important. He's an information broker—a man named Luthen. He sees the galaxy through a lens that isn't filtered by Senate reports or Republic propaganda. If you want to know where the bodies are buried before they're even cold, he's your man."
"A spy?" Mothma asked, her brow furrowing.
"An architect of reality," Revan corrected. "Use him. He's already working with the Axis Network I've been funding. Between his intelligence and the Maverick Trust's resources, you can start building a foundation that won't crumble when the Chancellor finally drops the mask."
He looked at them, his eyes full of an ancient, 136-year-old wisdom. "The Senate is a sinking ship. Start looking for the lifeboats."
The Lifeboat Protocol: Yoda and Yaddle
Returning to Coruscant under the cover of night, Revan shed the 'Doctor' persona and returned to the Temple. He didn't go to his quarters. He went to the High Council's private meditation spire, where Master Yoda and Master Yaddle sat in the dim light of the setting moons.
"A shadow, you have become, Revan," Yoda said, his ears twitching as the Maverick entered. "More than war, you carry."
"I carry the truth, Yoda. And it's getting heavy," Revan said, sitting cross-legged between them. He didn't use his sass now. He used the Force—letting his 23,000 Midichlorian count pulse with a protective, dense warmth.
"The chips are real," Revan stated bluntly. "I've dechipped two legions now. I've seen the code. It's not a safeguard; it's an execution order. When the Chancellor gives the word, the clones will stop being men and start being meat-droids programmed to kill you."
Yaddle's eyes were large and full of sorrow. "The Council... they trust the Republic. They trust the office."
"The office is occupied by a Sith Lord, Yaddle. We both know the feeling of the dark side around him," Revan countered. "I'm not here to argue politics. I'm here to discuss the Lifeboat Protocol."
He leaned forward. "If the Temple falls—and it will—the younglings are the priority. I've established a series of Safe Houses and Hidden Bunkers across the galaxy. Tatooine, Lothal, Naboo. They are equipped with droids, food, and stealth arrays. I want your permission to begin 'mission rotations' for the younglings. Small groups, led by trusted Knights like Jaro Tapal. Send them to the Outer Rim under the guise of 'cultural study'."
"Secretly, this must be done," Yoda mused. "But the risk..."
"The risk of doing nothing is extinction, Yoda," Revan said, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "I have the ships. I have the credits. I have the droids. All I need is for you to look the other way when a transport of younglings 'miscalculates' its hyperspace jump and ends up on a planet that doesn't exist on any Republic map."
Yaddle nodded slowly. "The future... for the children, it must be preserved."
"Try to be nice, do good," Revan whispered, standing up. "But never fail to be kind. And the kindest thing we can do for the future of the Order is to make sure it has one."
Status: Month 11, 20 BBY (Week 3 Conclusion)
As the moons of Coruscant reached their zenith, Revan Shan stood on the balcony of the meditation spire. Below, the city was a sea of lights, unaware of the quadrillion-credit short position or the bio-organic switches in the heads of its protectors.
The 596th and 597th Legions were resting, their ships being honed into blades by Cortana and the engineering droids. The "Big Short" was maturing. The Rebellion's seeds were planted on Chandrila. And the first lifeboats were being prepped in the Temple hangars.
"Month eleven," Revan mused, watching a patrol of V-wings roar past. "The year is almost over. 19 BBY is coming. And I'm going to be the one holding the bill when it arrives."
He popped a final lemon candy, the sharp tartness a reminder that even in the dark, there was still room for a little sass.
| Current Statistics: Month 11, 20 BBY | Value |
|---|---|
| Maverick Trust Credits | 8.1 Trillion |
| CIS Short Position Exposure | 1 Quadrillion Credits |
| 596th + 597th Legion Strength | 63,120 Troopers (Dechipping 51%) |
| New Fleet Assets | 3 Venator I, 9 Acclamator, 36 Arquitens |
| Lifeboat Protocol | Initiated (Lothal/Tatooine Bunkers Active) |
| Revan's Mood | Strategically Protective |