The transition from the smoke-belching, industrialized efficiency of Eriadu to the endless, bioluminescent deep of Mon Cala was a localized atmospheric mercy that Revan Shan met with a fresh waterproof robe, a pair of self-tinting goggles, and a very particular brand of 11th-Doctor-esque enthusiasm. As 88 BBY dissolved into the galactic archives and 87 BBY took its place, the Black Pearl breached the oceanic surface of Dac, the splash muted by the ship's specialized Beskar-Phrik-Cortosis hull.
Revan sat in his Sovereign's Command Chair, which was currently reclined at a forty-two-degree "Subaquatic Contemplation" angle. Calculus was sprawled across the main console, his orange tail twitching at the sight of the massive, glowing jellyfish-like structures of the Mon Calamari cities through the viewport. Theorem, the silver-and-black kitten, was currently industriously trying to "audit" a loose strand of Chewbacca's waterproofed bandolier.
"You see, Chewie," Revan murmured, his voice carrying the dry, slightly manic rasp of the 12th Doctor as he sipped a latte infused with Eriadu-grown vanilla. "According to my 4th Doctorate in Advanced Engineering, the Mon Calamari don't just build ships; they grow geometry. It's a localized masterpiece of organic structuralism. But according to my 1st Doctorate in Theoretical Physics, their pressure-compensation algorithms are about 15% too cautious. It's statistically magnificent and remarkably wet."
Chewbacca let out a resonant, low-frequency rumble—a Wookiee's way of saying he appreciated the "Wet" part as long as his fur didn't get matted.
"Cortana, initiate the 'Sea-Ghost' protocol," Revan commanded.
"Protocol active, Revan," the AI replied, her avatar appearing on his gauntlet wearing a tiny, holographic diving helmet. "Stealth generator is masking our cavitation. We are officially a localized bubble in the eyes of the planetary security grid. However, the King is already transmitting the landing coordinates for the Coral Spire. It seems our 'Maverick' reputation has preceded us by about three nautical miles."
The Administrative Kindness: Gifting the Shadows
Before the Black Pearl reached the primary docking iris of the capital, Revan had a piece of "Administrative Kindness" to perform. He spent the morning at the ship's secure terminal, finalizing the encryption on three Kyber-Quantum Data-Shards.
"Miner, prep the express delivery canister," Revan said to the Librarian Droid. "Destination: The Jedi Temple, Coruscant. Recipient: The Green Gremlin. Address him as 'Master Yoda' if you must, but include the note: 'Found some interesting Tarkin-family doodles on Eriadu. It's a localized study on 'Atmospheric Energy Siphoning.' Try to be nice, Yoda. Don't let the Republic turn this into a giant, expensive heater. It's bad for the plumbing. - The Auditor.'"
The shards contained the secret research Revan had scavenged from Eriadu—research that, in the wrong hands (like a certain future Emperor's), could lead to the early development of planetary-scale weapons. By handing it to Yoda, Revan was essentially conducting a "Narrative Intervention" by drowning the data in Jedi bureaucracy.
"Adventure is the journey, D6," Revan whispered as the canister hissed out of the launch tube. "But sometimes the journey involves making sure the wrong people don't find the short-cuts."
The Grand Meeting: Coral and Diplomacy
The Black Pearl docked within the Coral Spire, the primary diplomatic hub of the Mon Calamari. The ramp lowered, and Revan stepped out into the humid, saline air of the capital. He wore his black Phrik-weave robes, the Original Mask of Revan secured in its Beskar safe, and a lopsided, sassy grin.
He was met by a grand procession: King Nosor Ri of the Mon Calamari and the Quarren Prime Minister, Seggor Telsa. It was a localized display of planetary unity that Revan found "Refreshingly Tidy."
"Knight Shan," the King began, his large, bulbous eyes blinking in greeting. "The Jedi Council spoke of a Maverick who audits the stars. We did not expect a man who looks so... young."
"According to my 3rd Doctorate in Sentient Sociology, Majesty," Revan replied wittily, giving a mock-bow that was about 15% more dramatic than necessary. "Looking young is a statistical necessity when you spend half your life in a hammock. I'm here for the 'Underwater Engineering Audit.' And because I hear your seafood is better than anything on Nar Shaddaa."
The dinner that followed was a localized triumph of intellectual sharing. Revan sat between the King and the Prime Minister, with Chewbacca, D6, and HK-47 acting as his "Diplomatic Corps."
"Statement: Master, I have noted that these piscine meatbags possess a remarkably efficient respiratory system," HK-47 whirred, his photoreceptors glowing orange. "Observation: I find the aquatic decor to be sufficiently humid for the lubrication of my joints. However, I suggest we audit the safety of the sushi before the Wookiee consumes the entire platter."
Revan ignored HK and dove into a deep discussion regarding the Fluid Dynamics of Large-Scale Starship Hull-Stress.
> The Aquatic Displacement Variable (\Delta_{H}):
> By his internal audit, Revan explained to the Mon Calamari engineers how their cruiser designs could benefit from a rhythmic synchronization with the planet's magnetic poles, effectively allowing the hull to 'breathe' during high-speed atmospheric exit.
>
The King was impressed. The Prime Minister was intrigued. The Maverick had left a localized impression of brilliance, paving the way for a future where Mon Cala would become a primary shipyard for the "Prodigal Knight's" eventual fleet.
The Young Tactician: Meeting a Future Legend
The most significant moment of 87 BBY, however, happened in the lower gardens of the Spire. Revan, taking a break from the formal festivities, found a small, orange-skinned Mon Calamari child playing with a fleet of miniature wooden ships in a shallow pool.
"Nice formation," Revan noted, kneeling beside the child. "But you're leaving your left flank open to a localized pincer movement."
The child looked up, his large, intelligent eyes widening. It was a young Gial Ackbar.
"The water moves the ships," the boy whispered. "I just follow the current."
"According to my 9th Doctorate in Advanced Mathematics & Logic Programming, following the current is for fish, Gial," Revan grinned, reaching into his robes. "Leaders make the current. Adventure is the journey, but winning the battle is about seeing the 'Trap' before it's sprung."
He pulled out a silver-plated Kyber-Quantum Datapad. It wasn't just a toy; it was an archive of Brilliant Tactical Naval Maneuvers Revan had compiled from his doctorates and his memories of the future.
"Take this," Revan said, handing the pad to the boy. "It's a localized audit of every major naval engagement in the last four thousand years. Study the 'Calculus of Deflection.' And remember: try to be nice. Do good. But never fail to be kind to your crew. They're the ones who keep the ship from leaking."
The child clutched the datapad as if it were a holy relic. The Maverick had just planted a seed of tactical genius that would one day change the fate of a Rebellion.
The Sovereign's Nap: End of 87 BBY
The rest of the year was spent in what Revan called a "Hydro-Engineering Sabbatical." The gang went on picnics in the floating kelp-forests, watched Chewbacca compete (and win) in an underwater arm-wrestling tournament, and took long, rhythmic naps in the castle's garden-domes.
"You know, Chewie," Revan said, lounging in his chair as the Black Pearl hovered just above the waves. "According to my heart, 87 BBY was a masterpiece of cooperation. We didn't break anything, we didn't sass any Sith, and we gave a future Admiral his first set of homework."
"Status, Cortana," Revan whispered.
"Mon Cala is audited. Young Ackbar is currently running simulations on his new datapad at a 99% accuracy rate," Cortana reported. "The 4.3 Billion credits are stable, and the Star-Sass has been calibrated for underwater launch. We are 90% through the Twenty-Year Itinerary."
"Brilliant," Revan yawned, the chair reclining to the Calculated Nap Angle of 134.5 degrees. "Adventure is the journey, D6. And 87 BBY was a localized triumph of seafood and science."
He closed his eyes. The Maverick was at rest. The "Golden Age" of the Republic continued its slow, binary drift, but in the heart of an oceanic world, the books were balanced, the lattes were warm, and the journey was exactly on schedule.
"Try to be nice, 86 BBY," Revan murmured. "I'll see you at the lekku."