The transition from the serene, silver-grassed plains of Chandrila to the gargantuan, artificial rings of the Kuat Drive Yards was a localized industrial whiplash that Revan Shan met with a pilot's jumpsuit, a fresh crate of "Hyper-Fuel" espresso, and a very particular brand of 11th-Doctor-esque manic velocity. As 40 BBY claimed its place in the galactic archive, the Maverick Master decided that if he was going to turn 109 next year, he might as well do it while breaking every speed record in the Core Worlds.
The Kuat Starship Open: A Masterpiece of Kinetic Geometry
The Kuat Starship Open was not a race for the faint of heart or the un-audited. It was a high-stakes, multi-stage gauntlet through the Kuat orbital ring's manufacturing sectors, construction debris, and artificial gravity wells.
Revan, operating under the "Dr. John Smith" pseudonym, sat in the cockpit of the Star-Sass. Eleven (R2-B11) was slotted into the droid socket, his sensor package pulsing a rhythmic Cyan.
"Right then, Eleven," Revan chirped, flipping a series of Phrik-alloy switches. "According to my 1st Doctorate in Theoretical Physics, 'Space' is mostly just an argument between variables. We're going to be the most persuasive variable in the room. Don't worry about the odds; the house always loses when they forget to audit the Maverick."
The odds were, indeed, statistically delicious: 40:1. The professional racing syndicates looked at the "vintage" X-Wing frame and laughed. They saw an academic; they didn't see the Kyber-Quantum core, the Beskar/Phrik/Cortosis alloy chassis, or the Class 0.5 Hyperdrive tuned for sublight Jump-Snapping.
Revan had placed a 5 million credit bet on himself through his investment banker, Jax.
> The Victory Probability Matrix (P_v):
>
The starting siren wailed. The Star-Sass didn't just accelerate; it vanished into a rhythmic blur of white and red.
While the other racers fought for the standard "racing line," Revan utilized Force Precognition to audit the micro-vibrations of the Kuat ring itself. He took paths that were mathematically impossible—skimming through the thermal exhaust vents of a maturing Star Dreadnought and utilizing the gravity-well of a spinning docking arm to sling-shot past the lead pod.
"Master, the Corellian entry is attempting a localized squeeze!" Eleven trilled frantically.
"Try to be nice, Eleven," Revan sassed, pulling the stick into a hard roll. "But never fail to be fast."
He engaged a micro-Jump-Snap. To the spectators, it looked like the Star-Sass glitched through the Corellian ship, reappearing five hundred meters ahead in a burst of cyan ion-glow. Revan crossed the finish line a full twelve seconds ahead of the next competitor.
The Result: * 1st Place: Dr. John Smith (Revan Shan).
* Payout: 200 Million Credits (added to the Maverick Trust, now sitting at a tidy 15.8 Billion).
Stress Relief: The Coruscant Slalom
Revan didn't stick around for the trophy ceremony. He had credits to move and a Council to annoy. Upon returning to Coruscant airspace, he decided the "Academic Tension" of the race required a localized release.
He didn't just fly to the Temple. He took the Black Pearl and the Star-Sass individually through the staggering traffic of the Galactic City.
With Cortana managing the freighter's stealth spoofing and the astromechs (D6, Eleven, Chopper) linked in a shared logic-array, Revan performed what could only be described as "Stunt Auditing."
* He wove the Star-Sass between the support pillars of the Senate Building at 2700 KPH.
* He performed a vertical "Dolphin Dive" with the Black Pearl through the high-density air-lanes of the Works.
* He utilized Force Enhance to synchronize his reflexes with the ships' sublight manifolds, moving so fast the atmospheric friction turned the Beskar hull into a glowing rhythmic spear.
"Statement: Master, my homicidal-logic centers are experiencing a 42% increase in 'Pure Glee'," HK-47 whirred over the internal comms as the freighter pulled a 12-G turn. "Observation: These organic pilots are screaming. It is... statistically satisfying."
"They aren't screaming, HK, they're just auditing their life choices!" Revan laughed, sassing a Coruscant Security cruiser by flying underneath its docking bay before Jump-Snapping away.
The Return: A Council of Shadows
When Revan finally landed at the Jedi Temple, the atmosphere was less than "Rhythmic." Mace Windu, Plo Koon, and Ki-Adi-Mundi were waiting in the hangar. Grandmaster Yoda was also there, hiding a smirk behind his cane.
"Master Shan," Windu began, his voice a dry audit of authority. "Your performance in the Kuat Open was... noticed. As was your arrival at this Temple. You have turned the Coruscant air-lanes into a localized failure of public safety."
"According to my 3rd Doctorate in Sentient Sociology, Mace," Revan sassed, hopping off the Black Pearl's ramp with Calculus on his shoulder, "people need a little excitement to keep the mid-day doldrums away. I was merely providing a service. Also, I brought donuts. Naboo-spice. Try to be nice, they're still warm."
Yoda took a donut with a grateful grunt. "A storm, there is, Master Shan. Beyond the games, the Force stutters."
The Council led Revan to the inner chambers. The banter died away, replaced by the 12th Doctor's weary gravity.
"There is a cult," Ki-Adi-Mundi explained. "The Bando Gora. They are spreading like a rhythmic infection through the Outer Rim. They utilize the Dark Side, but in a way that is... untidy. Violent. Chaotic."
"We need an Auditor," Windu said, looking Revan in the eye. "Someone who can move in the shadows and find the source of this 'unkindness' before it touches the Core. You are the only Master with the... unconventional toolkit required."
Revan looked at the holographic display of the Bando Gora's victims. He knew this variable. He knew that eventually, this lead would involve Komari Vosa, Dooku's lost apprentice.
"Right then," Revan murmured, the sass replaced by a sharp, clinical focus. "According to my heart, a cult that preys on the 96% is a variable that needs to be deleted. I'll take the mission. But I'm doing it my way. No reports, no Senate oversight, and HK-47 gets to use the 'Aggressive Negotiations' protocol."
"Agreed," Yoda rasped. "Go, you must. But careful, you should be. Darkness, this Gora is. Not a game, it is."
The Sovereign's Nap: End of 40 BBY
The year concluded with the Black Pearl prepped for deep-space travel. Revan was slumped in his Sovereign's Command Chair, Calculus sleeping on his lap. Jaro Tapal was on the bridge, calibrating the weapons systems of Jaro's Wall.
"Status, Cortana," Revan whispered.
"Bando Gora coordinates locked. The 15.8 Billion Credits are earning interest," Cortana reported. "And Master, a report from Naboo: Sheev Palpatine has been noted for his 'Quiet Charity' to the local orphanage. He is 42 years old. The shadow is becoming a saint in the eyes of the public."
"A saint with a ledger," Revan yawned, the chair reclining to the Calculated Nap Angle of 134.5 degrees. "Adventure is the journey, D6. And 40 BBY was a masterpiece of racing and cult-hunting. Try to be nice, 39 BBY. I have a feeling the audit is about to get remarkably bloody."
He closed his eyes. The Maverick was 109, the droids were prepped, and the Auditor was dreaming of the darkness he was about to fix.