The final days of 120 BBY bled into the dawn of 119 BBY with the quiet, rhythmic hum of the Black Pearl's sublight engines. Revan Shan was currently reclined in the Sovereign's Command Chair, which had automatically tilted back to a precise thirty-two-degree "Observation Angle." Calculus, the Loth-cat, was draped over the headrest, purring with a frequency that harmonized perfectly with the ship's Kyber-Quantum cooling fans.
"Right then, Cortana," Revan murmured, peering over the top of his polarized sunglasses at a shimmering holographic star-chart. "According to my 10th Doctorate in Galactic History, the galaxy has a very untidy habit of leaving its history in the dirt. Battles, sieges, galactic tantrums—they all leave behind a localized residue of very expensive junk. And I've decided that the next seven years of our journey will be dedicated to a thorough, multi-planetary audit of that junk."
"The itinerary is loaded, Revan," Cortana replied, her blue avatar wearing a tiny, holographic explorer's hat. "Ruusan, Mandalore, Tatooine, Jedha, Alderaan, Lothal, Tython, Ahch-To, Telos IV, and Dantooine. If we spend six months per planet, we are looking at a seven-year scavenging sabbatical. I've already authorized the MK2 Engineering droids to secure a specialized high-capacity salvage container to the Pearl's external mag-clamps. We're going to be a very fast, very well-armed garbage truck."
"Adventure is the journey, Cortana! And the souvenirs are the tax for that journey," Revan grinned, popping a lemon candy. "Let's start with the big one. The one that still tastes like ozone and regret in the Force. Set a course for Ruusan."
The Audit of the Valley: Ruusan
The Black Pearl ghosted into the Ruusan system under full Automatic Stealth Generator coverage. To any localized Republic monitors, the ship was merely a shadow cast by the system's twin suns. As they descended toward the Valley of the Jedi, the atmosphere grew thick with the heavy, stagnant pressure of the Thought Bomb—a thousand-year-old scar that still refused to heal.
"According to my 8th Doctorate in Ancient Art & Archaeology," Revan noted, pulling on his black Phrik-weave robes and securing his Sonic Screwdriver to his belt, "this valley is a geological anomaly created by spiritual trauma. The Force here isn't just a feeling; it's a localized distortion of the space-time fabric."
As the ramp lowered, the air hit him—cold, still, and smelling of ancient static. Revan stepped onto the dusty soil, followed by HK-47 and R2-D6. Chopper stayed behind to "audit" the latte machine.
*"Statement: Master, my sensors are detecting a high concentration of 'Lingering Malice'," * HK-47 whirred, his photoreceptors scanning the jagged rock formations. "Observation: This area is statistically ideal for finding discarded weaponry and the charred remains of past meatbags. I am eager to begin the collection process."
"We're looking for the subtle ripples, HK. The things the scavengers missed because they were too afraid of the ghosts," Revan said, his eyes scanning the horizon with the cold clarity of the 12th Doctor.
The Force-Distortion and the Sonic Trill
They trekked deep into the valley, toward the epicenter of the ancient explosion. Suddenly, the air began to shimmer like a desert mirage. A localized Force-distortion—a remnant of the Thought Bomb's vacuum—was bending the light around a buried structure.
"R2, stay back. This isn't a mechanical lock," Revan warned. "It's a knot in the Force. According to my 6th Doctorate in Advanced Dimensional Mechanics, if we step into that without stabilizing the frequency, we'll be scattered across three different timelines before we can say 'Ouch'."
Revan didn't reach for his lightsabers. He didn't reach for his degrees. He reached for the Sonic Screwdriver.
"Right then," he whispered, flicking the silver cylinder to its high-output setting. "Kyber-cyan resonance, don't fail me now. Let's see if we can audit a ghost."
Whirrr-vwoop-trill.
The tip flared a brilliant, steady cyan. Revan aimed the device at the shimmering air. The Sonic's resonance began to hum, creating a counter-vibration to the Force-distortion.
> The Spatio-Temporal Stabilization Constant (\Sigma_s):
> By his internal audit, Revan realized the Sonic could bridge the gap where the Force was too 'jagged' to touch directly. It was a toy, a tool, and in this moment, a literal lifeline.
>
The shimmering air solidified. The "knot" untied itself with a soft, audible pop, revealing a hidden sub-surface vault made of ancient, scorched obsidian.
The Loot of the Sith: The Amulet of the Void
Inside the vault, the air was perfectly preserved. It wasn't a Jedi site; it was a private bunker belonging to one of Lord Kaan's Brotherhood of Darkness. Resting on a pedestal of cold iron was a Sith artifact—the Amulet of the Void. It was a jagged piece of black glass that seemed to swallow the light from Revan's Sonic Screwdriver.
"A localized focus for the Thought Bomb's energy," Revan mused, his sassy grin returning as he looked at the loot. "According to my 5th Doctorate in Galactic Lore & Ethics, this thing is technically a war crime in a jar. But for me? It's a fascinating data-point."
He utilized Mechu-deru to cleanse the lingering Dark Side imprints from the glass, turning it from a weapon of malice into a purified Kyber-focal crystal.
"R2, get the mag-sled. We're taking the pedestal, the crystals, and those three crates of Old Republic era armor-plating," Revan commanded. "This trip is already paying for its own fuel."
Training the Instinct: The Current of Ruusan
Before leaving Ruusan, Revan spent three days in the valley, training with the Personal Holocron of Revan. The ancestor's image appeared, his bronze light clashing with the grey dust of the valley.
"The distortion you 'fixed' with your toy was a lesson, descendant," the hologram spoke. "The Force is not always a calm river. Sometimes it is a knot. To move through it, you must stop being the Auditor and become the thread."
Revan ignited his blades. He spent hours moving through the jagged terrain, letting his "feeling" guide him. He utilized Force Jump to clear massive chasms, and Force Repulse to push back the encroaching dust storms. He wasn't calculating the physics; he was trusting the instinct.
The Sovereign's Nap and the Long Road
As the Black Pearl lifted off from the scarred surface of Ruusan, the external mag-clamps were already holding several tons of high-grade Sith-era scrap and artifacts. Revan slumped into his Command Chair, Calculus immediately reclaiming his lap.
"One planet down, nine to go," Revan yawned, the chair reclining to the "Optimal Nap Angle" of 134 degrees. "119 BBY is going to be a very busy year, Cortana. But we aren't in a rush."
"Next stop, Mandalore?" Cortana asked.
"Mandalore," Revan agreed, popping a final lemon candy. "I've heard the Beskar-scrap in the lower layers of the Sundari ruins is particularly exquisite. And I'm in the mood for a bit of 'kind' dumpster diving."
The freighter snapped into hyperspace, a silver-and-black shadow in the velvet dark. Revan Shan was not a hero, and he was not a guardian. He was the Auditor of the past, the Sovereign of the present, and a man who really, really enjoyed his naps.
"Adventure is the journey, D6," Revan whispered as he drifted off. "And our journey is just getting to the good part."