The Sullust system was a hellish landscape of volcanic fury and industrial smog, a world where the atmosphere itself seemed to conspire against anything made of flesh and bone. From the viewport of the Sovereign's Grace, the planet looked like a glowing ember floating in a sea of obsidian. But the real heat wasn't coming from the lava flows below; it was radiating from the massive Separatist droid fleet that had turned the orbital lanes into a congested graveyard of debris.
As the third week of the tenth month of 20 BBY commenced, the 596th 'Maverick's Roughnecks' exited hyperspace with the signature "Jump-Snap" precision that had become the terror of the Outer Rim. They didn't arrive in a defensive line; they materialized in a pincer formation, their 2x Dreadnought shielding flaring sapphire blue as they absorbed the opening salvos from a dozen Lucrehulk-class hubs.
Revan Shan stood in the center of the bridge, his black Beskar-filament robes billowing slightly in the recycled air. His hood was up, masking the 23-year-old face of a man who was technically 136, but currently felt like a very caffeinated professor about to deliver a particularly explosive lecture.
"Admiral Kaine," Revan said, his voice carrying that rhythmic, sassy lilt. "The Separatists seem to have brought a surplus of tin today. Shall we help them find the local recycling center? Preferably at terminal velocity?"
"The Vice Admirals are already engaging, General," Kaine replied, his hands moving over the holographic tactical display with the calm efficiency of a master chess player. "Lara is handling the Tri-Droid swarms, and Spock has the Arquitens cruisers screening the Acclamators. The theater is congested, but manageable."
"Splendid. I'm going to go join the gnats," Revan quipped, popping a lemon candy into his mouth. "Cortana, darling, prep the Star-Sass. I feel like doing some sky-writing."
The Symphony of Sullust: Star-Sass in Flight
Revan vaulted into the cockpit of the Star-Sass, the X-wing's Kyber-Quantum computers chirping a greeting as the mag-clamps released. Within seconds, he was out in the black, the sublight engines screaming at 2700 KPH.
He didn't just fly; he merged. His 23,000 Midichlorian count allowed him to tap into the Force with a density that turned the chaotic space battle into a slow-motion dance.
Battle Meditation and Force Valor.
A golden wave of tactical clarity rippled through every pilot in the 596th. Clone pilots who were already free of their chips suddenly felt their reflexes sharpen to impossible levels. They moved with a hive-mind efficiency that bypassed the Separatist droid logic, weaving through crossfire like ghosts.
"Focus on the feeling, boys!" Revan's voice echoed in the minds of his pilots. "The Force is the only navigator you need today."
The Star-Sass was a red-and-white blur. Revan used the Sith Kyber lenses on his cannons to core through a Munificent-class frigate's shield generators with a single, focused burst. He spun the craft through a field of debris, using Force Precognition to banking milliseconds before a Vulture droid could lock on.
"Master," Cortana's voice crackled through his gauntlet. "A priority transmission from General Skywalker on the surface. It seems the encounter with Severance Tann has taken a... complicated turn."
The Betrayal of Tann
On the volcanic plains below, Anakin Skywalker had been leading a charge to take the primary Sullust foundry. He had finally cornered Severance Tann, the Chiss commander whose tactical brilliance had plagued the Republic for months.
But according to the garbled report, the duel never reached its conclusion. Count Dooku, acting on a direct order from Sidious to "trim the hedges" and ensure no rivals remained, had authorized an orbital strike on Tann's own command ship while she was still aboard.
"The ship went down in the lava fields, Revan," Anakin's voice sounded hollow over the comms. "Dooku didn't even hesitate. He killed his own commander just to prove he could. We... we believe Tann is dead. There were no escape pods."
Revan sighed, a cold, ancient anger flickering in his eyes. "That's the Sith way, Anakin. They don't build empires; they build pyres. Finish the foundry. I'll handle the orbital clean-up."
In his mind, Revan knew Tann's "death" was a convenient narrative for Dooku, but he also knew that in this galaxy, bodies not found usually meant a sequel. He filed the information away for future "auditing."
The "Maverick Jammers": A Gift for the Order
During the brief lulls in the space engagement, Revan retreated to the Black Pearl's laboratory. He looked at the bio-organic inhibitor chips he had extracted from Tup and Fives. The tiny, organic-metallic slivers were the keys to a genocide he had spent a year warning the Jedi about.
"If the Council wants to be ignorant, I'll just have to be 'kind' for them," Revan muttered, pulling out his Sonic Screwdriver.
Utilizing his doctorates in Advanced Engineering and Kyber-Quantum Informatics, Revan began a high-speed manufacturing run. He wasn't building weapons. He was building insurance.
He developed a localized frequency jammer, no larger than a standard blaster battery. The device was designed to emit a specific, high-density harmonic pulse that targeted the resonance of the inhibitor chips.
"One minute, Cortana," Revan said, inspecting the first completed unit. "That's all it gives them. One minute of mental clarity when the 'Order' signal goes out. A brief window to realize their brothers aren't the enemy."
"It's a gamble, Master," Cortana noted.
"It's kindness, Cortana. It's giving them a choice."
Revan manufactured 10,000 units. These weren't for his 596th—they didn't need them. These were for the rest of the Order.
The Fondor Logistics
While the battle for Sullust raged, Revan initiated a secure rendezvous with Luthen Rael. The three Fondor Haulcrafts (Zero, Neo, and Ghost) detached from the Sovereign's Grace under the cover of a massive debris cloud created by a destroyed Lucrehulk.
Revan, wearing his hood and mask, met Luthen via a holographic link.
"Luthen, I'm sending you 10,000 'Medical Diagnostic Units'," Revan said, his voice sardonically light. "Your agents are to distribute them to every Jedi they can find. Tell them it's a stabilizer for their gear against Separatist ion-pulses. Tell them whatever you want, but make sure they keep them on their persons."
Luthen, looking at the crates being loaded into the Haulcrafts, raised an eyebrow. "You're spending millions on a 'diagnostic unit' during a fleet engagement, John?"
"I'm an eccentric philanthropist, Luthen. It's what I do. Just get them delivered. I'm hoping to save at least some of those 15,000 Jedi from the 'unforeseen' consequences of this war."
Luthen nodded, the weight of the mission settling on him. "Understood. The Haulcrafts are already prepping for their jump-out."
The Mystery in the Ranks
Over the next few days, across several systems in the Mid and Outer Rim, mysterious "merchants" and "refugees"—Axis agents—began approaching Jedi Masters, Knights, and even Younglings.
"Master Jedi," an agent would whisper on a muddy battlefield or in a quiet corridor. "A gift from a friend of the Republic. Keep this on your belt. It will protect your comms from the next Separatist blackout. Don't ask questions. Just stay safe."
Most Jedi, weary from the war and used to the strange kindness of the "Maverick's" shadow network, accepted the small, sleek devices. They looked like standard equipment, hummed with a faint, calming Kyber resonance, and sat unobtrusively on their utility belts.
Back at the Temple on Coruscant, word eventually reached the Council.
"A gift, these devices are?" Yoda mused, turning a jammer over in his hand. "Touch the Force, they do. But strange... no records of their manufacture, there are."
"General Shan's hand is all over this," Mace Windu said, his voice a mix of suspicion and grudging respect. "He refuses to explain their function, only that we will 'thank him when the music stops'."
"The music..." Yoda sighed. "Getting louder, the shadows are."
Status: Month 10, 20 BBY (Week 3 Conclusion)
As the week drew to a close, the Battle of Sullust was turning into a decisive Republic victory. The Separatist fleet was in full retreat, the foundries were being dismantled by the 596th's engineering droids, and the "Roughnecks" had established a firm grip on the sector.
Revan Shan sat in his Sovereign's Command Chair, a cup of tea in one hand and the Darksaber resting on his lap. He felt the Force—a dense, vibrating field of 10,000 tiny beacons of potential safety scattered across the galaxy.
"Month ten," Revan mused. "The chips are down, the jammers are out, and the Count thinks he's a gardener. How is the Maverick Trust, Cortana?"
"Steady at 8.1 Trillion credits, Master. The Clone Retirement Trust is currently at 245 Million. And Master Yoda reports that Calculus has successfully taught the younglings how to use Force-telekinesis to make 'tea'—though it mostly involves floating lemon candies across the room."
Revan laughed, a warm, genuine sound. "That's my boy. Admiral Kaine, set a course for the Manda system. I hear the Shadow Collective is having a bit of a party, and I'd hate to miss the festivities."
The adventure continued, one frequency at a time.
| Current Statistics: Month 10, 20 BBY | Value |
|---|---|
| Maverick Trust Credits | 8.1 Trillion |
| Clone Retirement Trust | 245 Million |
| Jedi Jammers Distributed | 10,000 Units |
| Severance Tann Status | Presumed Dead (Unverified) |
| Revan's Mood | Prophetically Sassy |