The middle of 107 BBY on Coruscant did not arrive with a fanfare of trumpets, but with the heavy, rhythmic thrum of repulsor-sleds descending into the Jedi Temple's primary hangar. These were not standard Republic deliveries; they were unmarked, sleek, and radiated a faint, crystalline hum that set the nearby astromechs into a state of binary agitation.
Revan Shan stood at the edge of the landing platform, his black Phrik-weave robes snapping in the artificial wind of the hangar. Beside him, Eleven (R2-B11) stood with his Beskar-Phrik alloy shell gleaming, his extra control arms twitching in a localized dance of anticipation.
"You see, Eleven," Revan murmured, his voice carrying the dry, slightly manic rasp of the 12th Doctor as he adjusted his polarized sunglasses. "According to my 4th Doctorate in Advanced Engineering, the galaxy is currently suffering from a 'lack of imagination.' These crates don't contain parts; they contain possibilities. They contain the very atoms of the Star-Sass, forged in the fires of my own logic."
Eleven let out a series of sharp, cyan-tinted whistles, which Cortana translated through Revan's gauntlet: "The delivery matches the 107 BBY procurement ledger. 98.4% structural purity. The remaining 1.6% is likely just the scent of Kuat grease."
"Brilliant," Revan grinned. "Let's get to work. Adventure is the journey, and today the journey involves a lot of welding and zero oversight."
The Senate Inquiry: The Maverick on Trial
The assembly of the Star-Sass was interrupted in the late months of 107 BBY by a formal summons that Revan found "statistically inevitable yet personally annoying." He walked into the Senate Rotunda not in the traditional Jedi tunic, but in his Beskar/Cortosis/Phrik armor, his T-shaped helmet locked in its case, and Calculus the Loth-cat perched regally on his shoulder.
He stood in the center of the floor, facing a committee of twenty senators. Five of them, led by a particularly stern-faced Mon Calamari, represented the "Pacifist Contingent," and they looked at Revan as if he were a localized plague.
"Knight Shan," the Mon Calamari began, his voice echoing through the chambers. "This committee has received reports of a starfighter being constructed within the Jedi Temple. A starfighter of unknown design, utilizing parts that do not exist in any Republic registry. Are you aware that the Ruusan Reformations strictly limit the military footprint of the Jedi Order?"
Revan let out a high-pitched, 11th Doctor giggle that echoed through the rotunda. "According to my 5th Doctorate in Galactic Lore & Ethics, Senator, the Ruusan Reformations prevent the Jedi from leading armies or maintaining a standing military fleet. It says absolutely nothing about an individual Knight conducting a localized study in 'Aeronautical Aesthetics'."
"You are building a weapon of war with 'illegal' parts!" a human senator shouted, slamming his fist on the podium.
Revan sighed, the 12th Doctor's weary authority settling over him. He stepped forward, his eyes flashing with a sassy brilliance.
"Let's perform a localized audit of your logic, shall we? You call the parts 'illegal.' According to my 11th Doctorate in Advanced Mathematics, for something to be illegal, there must be a law forbidding its existence. I invented these parts. I drew the blueprints. I calculated the thermodynamic resonance of the Kyber-Quantum computer. Since these parts never existed until I manifested them, there is no legal framework to stand on. You can't outlaw a thought, Senator, though I suspect some of you have tried."
"And the funding?" a pacifist senator asked, leaning forward. "Where does a Jedi acquire 3.41 billion credits of material? Through theft? Through the corruption of the Order?"
"Through bartering, Senator. Pure, unadulterated gratitude," Revan winked. "According to my 7th Doctorate in Kyber-Quantum Informatics, I provide advice. I fix 'unfixable' glitches for planetary governors. I offer 'consultancy fees' for material engineering projects. In return, they gift me raw materials. Unless the Senate intends to outlaw 'saying thank you,' you have no grounds for inquiry. I'm not building a fleet; I'm building one ship. For fun. Because the journey is better when it's Supersonic."
He looked at the assembly, his voice dropping into a cold, clinical tone. "Unless you are prepared to ban science, inventing, and the pursuit of knowledge, you cannot touch me. I am a Maverick because I think outside your ledger. Now, if we're done, I have a cat who needs a nap and a starfighter that needs a pilot."
He walked out of the rotunda, leaving the twenty senators in a state of absolute, dusty silence. The Maverick had dismantled their legal trap with the same precision he used on a logic-gate.
The Time-Rift: An Audit of the Deep Spire
By the beginning of 106 BBY, Revan had returned to his routine at the Temple. However, the routine was shattered when Eleven and R2-D6 simultaneously let out a series of high-pitched, panicked warnings. A localized distortion was appearing in the sub-levels of the Temple—areas so old they predated the High Republic by millennia.
Revan descended into the darkness, his Natural Red blade providing a dim, magma-colored glow. He found the source: a jagged tear in the air itself, a "Time-Rift" that flickered with a static-like energy.
"Right then," Revan muttered, pulling his Sonic Screwdriver from his belt. "According to my 6th Doctorate in Advanced Dimensional Mechanics, this is a localized temporal stress fracture. Something is pulling on the 'Now' from a very untidy 'Then'."
He flicked the switch, the cyan tip humming as he began to stabilize the rift.
> Temporal Stabilization Matrix (\Delta T_{stab}):
> The Sonic Screwdriver's cyan trill acted as a kinetic anchor, vibrating the temporal atoms back into alignment while Revan utilized Force Stasis to hold the "Now" steady.
>
As the rift closed, it revealed something beneath the floorboards—a deep, ancient Dark Side Nexus. It was a bleeding wound in the Force, hidden directly beneath the Jedi Spire.
The Warning to the Council
Revan didn't hide the discovery. He walked straight into the High Council chamber, his expression a mix of 11th Doctor urgency and 12th Doctor grimness.
"Masters," Revan began, ignoring the usual greetings. "I've just audited the basement. You have a localized disaster beneath your feet. A Dark Side Nexus—an ancient shrine that is currently 'bleeding' into the Temple's resonance."
Grandmaster Yoda and Master Sskeer looked at him with a mixture of concern and skepticism. "Hidden, the dark has been, for generations," Yoda rasped. "Balanced, the Temple remains."
"According to my 1st Doctorate in Theoretical Physics, 'balanced' is a temporary state of decay," Revan countered sharply. "This nexus isn't going to blow up the building, but it is diluting your strength. It's like localized static on a communications array. Over time—decades, perhaps—it will cloud your ability to peer into the Force. Your visions will dim. Your foresight will fail. You're building a sanctuary on top of a shadow, and eventually, the shadow is going to win the lease."
"We will investigate, Knight Shan," Sskeer said, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Investigate all you want," Revan shrugged, his sassy lopsided grin returning. "But don't say the Auditor didn't warn you when you can't see a Sith Lord standing right in front of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, the Star-Sass is ready for its maiden flight, and I have a very important appointment with a hammock."
The Routine of 106 BBY: The Maverick's Peace
The rest of 106 BBY was a study in absolute, sovereign relaxation.
* Morning: 4-hour "Structural Integrity Audit" in the garden hammock. The Cat-Pack had grown to include a small Loth-kitten named Echo, who enjoyed sleeping on Revan's shoulder.
* Noon: Story-time with the younglings. Today's tale: The Starfighter who refused to use a Map. (A localized hit with the Bear Clan).
* Afternoon: Shadow Tag and Form VI Niman training. Revan was focusing on teaching the younglings to "feel" the Dark Side Nexus he'd found—not to fear it, but to recognize the "static" it produced.
* Evening: High-intensity sparring with the 25 Sith Training Droids and 20 Marksman Remotes.
Revan spent his late nights on the Black Pearl, finalizing the integration of Eleven and the Star-Sass. The sub-fighter was a masterpiece of Beskar-alloy and Kyber-Quantum tech, a Red, White, and Black ghost that could jump-snap into hyperspace at the first hint of trouble.
"Adventure is the journey, D6," Revan whispered as he slumped into his Sovereign's Command Chair for his nightly archival nap. "And our journey is currently looking remarkably well-equipped and legally untouchable."
He closed his eyes, the purring of five cats acting as a rhythmic anchor to his dreams. 106 BBY was ending, the "Golden Age" was still breathing, and the Maverick... well, the Maverick was just getting his second wind.
"Try to be nice, galaxy," Revan murmured into the dark. "I'll see you in the next decade."