The red dust of Anaxes didn't just settle; it colonized. It found its way into the seals of clone armor, the intake manifold of LAATs, and, most irritatingly, the vintage spice-latte machine aboard the Black Pearl. As the second half of the first week of Month 11, 20 BBY commenced, the atmosphere of the shipyard world was a thick, ionized soup of falling debris and relentless turbolaser thunder.
High above, the 596th 'Maverick's Roughnecks' fleet held a defensive line that would have made a Corellian mountain look flimsy. Admiral Kaine and his Vice Admirals maintained a 2x Dreadnought shielding resonance that simply absorbed the Separatist fleet's frustration. But the real war was being fought in the silence of high-stakes algorithms and the shadows of a Harch Admiral's command deck.
The Cyber Center: Mutations and Metal
At the Separatist Cyber Center, tucked deep within a jagged canyon, the air was suddenly punctuated by the hum of an ignited SaberStaff. HK-47 stood amidst a pile of smoldering B1 scrap, his Beskar-Phrik alloy chassis reflecting the flickering emergency lights.
"Statement: These biological units are surprisingly efficient for meatbags," HK-47 remarked, his red photoreceptors scanning Clone Force 99. "Though their genetic drift is statistically alarming, their penchant for unauthorized entry is quite... refreshing."
"Tech, talk to me," Hunter barked, ignoring the assassin droid's commentary as they bypassed the third security tier.
Tech adjusted his goggles, his fingers flying across a data-pad. "The signal originating from the Separatist command ship is utilizing a recursive algorithm based on Republic strategy. But it's not just a program. It's a live feed. Someone—or something—is anticipating Rex's every move."
"And that's where we come in," one of the five 596th ARC Troopers added, checking the charge on his DC-15A. "General Shan wants the source, not the symptoms."
Wrecker let out a boisterous laugh, crushing a commando droid's head with his bare hands. "I like the way the General thinks! More smashing, less talking!"
HK-47 tilted its head. "Correction: More precise termination, less unnecessary vocalization. But the smashing is an acceptable secondary objective."
The Audit of Admiral Trench
While the Bad Batch and HK-47 tore through the Cyber Center, a ghost moved through the upper atmosphere. The Black Pearl sat mag-locked to the outer hull of Admiral Trench's massive Invincible-class Dreadnought. Its Automatic Stygium Stealth Generator was so effective that even the Harch Admiral's multi-spectrum scanners registered nothing but a slight localized gravitational variance.
Revan Shan stood in the airlock, adjusting the hood of his black Beskar-filament robes. He wasn't wearing his mask; today, he wanted to see the look on Trench's face with his own eyes. On his belt, the silver-phrik Sonic Screwdriver hummed with a soft cyan glow.
"Cortana, darling," Revan whispered. "Is the back door open?"
"Encryption bypassed, Master," Cortana replied via his gauntlet. "The airlock pressure is equalized. I've ghosted your signature on the internal cameras. You have exactly twelve minutes before the Harch's tactical computer notices a 0.04\% power draw anomaly."
"Twelve minutes? Plenty of time for a quick audit," Revan quipped.
He stepped into the ship, moving with the fluid, silent grace of Force Stealth. He bypassed the primary barracks, utilizing Force Stasis to freeze a pair of patrolling B2 battle droids mid-step, leaving them like metallic statues in the corridor.
As he reached the command deck, the doors hissed open to reveal a sea of droids and the imposing, six-armed form of Admiral Trench. The Harch was clicking his mandibles, staring at a holographic tactical display of the Anaxes shipyards.
"The Republic... is persistent," Trench rasped, his eyes narrowing at the screen. "But their Maverick General... he is an anomaly I have yet to solve."
"Then today is your lucky day, Admiral! I'm excellent at being solved," Revan announced, stepping into the center of the bridge.
The droids spun around, blasters leveling. Revan didn't draw his Westars. He didn't even ignite his sabers yet. He simply raised a hand.
Force Repulse.
A massive wave of kinetic energy exploded outward. Tactical droids were flattened against the viewports, and a platoon of B1s was sent flying into the bulkheads like discarded tin cans. Revan blurred into motion—Force Enhance making him a shadow of black and red.
He ignited his Balanced Purple lightsaber, the violet blade a blur as he shifted through Form VI Niman. He didn't kill the droids; he dismantled them. With a flick of his wrist and the precision of Mechu-deru, he shorted out the bridge's automated defense turrets before they could fire a single shot.
Trench backed away, his six arms reaching for his concealed blasters. "Master Shan... you dare board my ship alone?"
"Alone? I brought my sass and a very expensive screwdriver, Admiral. That's usually enough," Revan said, pointing the Sonic Screwdriver at the primary tactical console. Whirrr-click. "I'm here to audit your computer. I believe you're using some stolen intellectual property."
The Ghost in the Machine: Echo
As Revan's gauntlet interfaced with the tactical computer, the truth flickered onto the holographic display. It wasn't an algorithm. It was a life-form—a cyborg interface.
"Echo," Revan whispered, his voice losing its sassy edge for a moment of genuine sadness. "You've been busy, kid."
"He is the source of our perfection!" Trench hissed, finally drawing his blasters.
Revan didn't look at him. He used Force Grip to yank the weapons from Trench's hands, crushing them into scrap metal before they even hit the floor. He then used his Sonic Screwdriver to initiate a high-speed data-dump of the Separatist naval codes directly to the Sovereign's Grace.
"Audit complete, Admiral," Revan said, turning back to Trench with a sharp, youthful grin. "Your fleet is officially bankrupt. And as for you... I believe the Republic has a very nice, very secure cell with your name on it. Or rather, your species designation. They aren't great with names."
With a sudden burst of Force Stasis, Revan locked Trench in place, mandibles still clicking in a frozen snarl.
"Cortana, tell Admiral Kaine the codes are uploaded. The Separatist fleet is now blind. Tell the boys to finish the job."
The Financial Ripple: A Quadrillion Credit Cold Snap
While the physical war on Anaxes took a decisive turn, the invisible war on the galactic markets reached a fever pitch. In the high-spired palaces of Serenno, Count Dooku stared at a flickering financial scroll.
"My Lord," a representative of the InterGalactic Banking Clan stammered via hologram. "We are seeing a massive, coordinated short position being taken against our primary industrial assets. The Trade Federation, the Techno Union... they are being targeted by over a thousand different shell companies."
Dooku's brow furrowed. "A short? At this stage of the war? Who would dare bet on our total liquidation?"
"The exposure is... astronomical, My Lord. We calculate a total market position of approximately one quadrillion credits. If we lose Anaxes—if our stock hits the floor by the end of next year—the payout would bankrupt the Clan for a millennium."
Dooku felt a cold prickle of dread. This wasn't a standard Republic move. This was predatory. "Trace the source."
"We cannot, My Lord. The accounts are linked to 'Stable Rhythmic Anchors' and 'Staple Enterprises.' Every time we peel back a layer, we find another three hundred shell companies. It's like chasing a ghost in a hall of mirrors."
The Sith's Suspicion
Deep in the industrial heart of Coruscant, in a room filled with the scent of old paper and the hum of dark side energy, Chancellor Palpatine looked at the same data. He had his own short positions, of course—part of his plan to profit from the transition to his new Empire. But this... this was different.
"A quadrillion credits," Sidious hissed to himself, his yellow eyes glowing in the dark. "Someone is playing my game with a larger deck."
He thought of the Maverick. He thought of Dr. John Smith. He remembered Plagueis's warning about the variable that could not be solved.
"You seek to own the debt of my Empire before it is even born, Master Shan?" Palpatine whispered, a thin, cruel smile touching his lips. "A bold move. But an investor is only as strong as his collateral. And I intend to burn your collateral to the ground."
Conclusion: The End of Week 1
By the time the first week of Month 11, 20 BBY drew to a close, the Battle of Anaxes had shifted. Trench was in custody, the Separatist naval codes were compromised, and the Bad Batch had confirmed the existence of Echo.
Revan Shan sat back in his Sovereign's Command Chair, sipping a perfectly brewed spice-latte. The red dust of Anaxes was still on his boots, but his mind was on the market.
"The short is in, Cortana," Revan mused. "One quadrillion credits in exposure. Dooku is panicking, the Banking Clan is sweating, and I've just saved a Harch Admiral from a very embarrassing career ending."
"Master, the Maverick Trust has already seen a 0.05\% uptick in collateral value due to the Anaxes victory," Cortana noted.
"Splendid. Let the galaxy burn its credits on war," Revan said, closing his eyes as the chair adjusted to his favorite nap angle. "I'm building a future where my boys never have to worry about a paycheck again. Try to be nice, do good... but never fail to be kind to your bank account."
The adventure was just beginning its final, most profitable act.
| Financial Status: Month 11, 20 BBY | Value |
|---|---|
| Maverick Trust (Base Capital) | 8.1 Trillion Credits |
| Market Exposure (Short Position) | 1 Quadrillion Credits |
| Shell Companies Active | 1,000+ |
| Collateral Ratio | 3.1 Trillion Credits |
| Revan's Mood | Financially Predatory |