The bridge of the Sovereign's Grace hummed with a different frequency than most Republic Venators. It wasn't just the hum of sublight engines; it was the resonance of a 75-Kyber crystal loop and the quiet, efficient chatter of a Cortana AI sub-process coordinating every bolt and wire. Revan Shan sat in the Sovereign's Command Chair, which was currently set to a precisely calculated 14.7° nap angle—the mathematical sweet spot where gravity and comfort met in perfect equilibrium.
"Admiral Kaine," Revan said, his voice muffled by the deep hood of his black cloak. He didn't look up from a data-pad that was currently displaying a complex architectural analysis of a vintage spice-latte machine. "Are we at the 'angry fire planet' yet? I've been told the scenery is lovely if you enjoy various shades of 'incineration'."
"Entering the Mustafar system now, General," Admiral Kaine replied, his voice steady despite the chaotic nature of their commander. "The 596th 'Maverick's Roughnecks' are ready. The merger of the 327th and 269th into a single unified legion is complete. Streamlined, efficient, and, as per your request, much more aesthetically pleasing on the organizational charts."
Revan finally looked up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Good. COMMAND is style, Admiral. If we're going to be the most rebellious fleet in the GAR, we might as well look the part. How are the boys?"
"The dechipped status of the entire 27,648-man legion has boosted morale by 400%, Sir," Vice Admiral Lara added from the secondary tactical station. "Commanders Check and Ruff have integrated the strike teams. They're calling themselves the 'Free-Born'."
"I like it," Revan mused, standing up and adjusting his bandolier of EMPs and thermal detonators. "Now, let's see if we can ruin the Separatists' day. Mustafar is a primary foundry for their droids. If we disrupt the supply, we don't just win a battle; we starve the machine."
The Star-Sass: A Dance of Ash and Ion
While the 596th Fleet took up a defensive perimeter above the planet, Revan didn't stay on the bridge. He lived for the adventure, the looting, and the sheer thrill of a Class 0.5 hyperdrive snap. He headed to the hangar, boarding his custom X-Wing, the Star-Sass.
"Cortana, sync with the Sovereign's Grace. I want the hidden freighter signatures highlighted. Don't worry about the frigates; Admiral Kaine can play with those. I want the luggage," Revan chirped into his comms.
The Star-Sass roared out of the hangar, its 2700 KPH sublight engines tearing through the thin, ash-choked atmosphere of Mustafar. Revan felt the Force—not as a burden of destiny, but as a fluid, vibrant map. He trusted the feeling, weaving through the jagged obsidian spires of the planet's surface.
Ahead, three Separatist freighters were attempting to break atmosphere, laden with thousands of freshly minted B1 and B2 battle droids.
"Rude. Leaving without saying goodbye?" Revan muttered. He flipped the Star-Sass into a tight barrel roll, his Sith Kyber lenses focusing his laser cannons into searing, concentrated beams of white-hot energy.
He didn't aim for the hull. He aimed for the fuel manifolds—physics was a wonderful tool when applied with the Force. The first freighter's engines flared and sputtered as Revan's precision shots bypassed their shielding. He used Force Precognition to predict the erratic defensive fire from the freighter's turrets, banking the Star-Sass centimeters away from death.
"One for the scrap heap," Revan hummed. "Cortana, give me a diagnostic on the second one's ion shielding."
"Shielding is cycling at 40Hz, Master. If you hit the emitter during the low-cycle, you can short out the entire droid hold."
Revan didn't just hit the emitter. He reached out with Mechu-deru, his mind touching the freighter's computer. He didn't take control; he just gave the droids inside a very confusing directive to 'Perform a recursive self-diagnostic while in a high-gravity environment.' The freighter groaned as the droids began moving erratically inside, shifting the cargo weight. The ship listed, and Revan finished it with a single proton torpedo.
The Foundry Raid: The HK-47 Experience
On the surface, the "Maverick Merger" was showing its teeth. A strike team of two hundred clones, led by Commanders Check and Ruff, dropped via LAATs directly onto the foundry's primary landing platform.
Beside them stood HK-47, his Beskar-Phrik chassis shimmering in the red light of the lava.
"Statement: Oh, how the lava accentuates the terror in their sensory arrays," HK-47 remarked, raising his blaster rifle. "Master says we are to be 'kind.' I have interpreted 'kindness' as a swift termination to avoid the discomfort of melting."
The droids at the foundry were B1s and B2s, setting up a defensive perimeter. But they weren't fighting standard clones. These troopers wore Beskar-alloy reinforced armor and carried upgraded DC-15A blasters with Kyber focusing lenses.
"Ruff, take the left flank! Check, blow the heat exchangers!" Commander Check barked.
The battle was surgical. The clones moved with a freedom of thought that their chipped counterparts lacked. They used the environment, flanking droid squads and utilizing the EMP grenades Revan had stocked them with.
HK-47 was a whirlwind of mechanical violence, his combat sub-routines (updated with Form VII Juyo data) allowing him to wield a vibroblade with terrifying fluidity. He wasn't just clearing droids; he was a one-droid army.
The Political Firestorm: The Senate and the Shadow
Back on Coruscant, the news of the Rishi Moon defense—and the subsequent "unauthorized" merger of two legions—had reached the highest levels of the Republic. In the grand rotunda of the Senate, the air was thick with tension.
"The Jedi Maverick," Senator Orn Free Taa blustered, "leads a fleet that rivals a sector's entire defense force! He breaks protocols, ignores naval hierarchy, and requisitions resources without a single requisition form!"
Mace Windu and Yoda stood in the center, silent, while Chancellor Palpatine watched with a mask of grandfatherly concern.
"He has been alive for one hundred and thirty-five years," a voice rang out from the gallery. It was Kaelen, the head accountant of the Maverick Trust and one of Dr. John Smith's assistants. He stood with a calm, analytical air that radiated "Degrees and Logic."
"General Shan," Kaelen continued, adjusting his spectacles, "is not merely a 'rebellious general.' He is a master of logistics and efficiency. Since the war began, his 596th Legion has disrupted sixty-eight Separatist supply lines and won every engagement assigned to them. He doesn't requisition resources because he provides them. Dr. John Smith's consulting services have determined that General Shan's fleet is 300% more cost-effective than a standard Republic deployment. He isn't breaking the rules; he is demonstrating that the rules are obsolete."
Palpatine leaned forward, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "A fascinating defense, Mr. Kaelen. But a general with such... autonomy... can be a dangerous precedent."
"With all due respect, Chancellor," Kaelen countered, "the precedent of losing the war is far more dangerous. General Shan does what works. He is currently at Mustafar, dismantling a foundry that would have produced five million droids by next quarter. Would you prefer he waited for a subcommittee to approve his fuel vouchers?"
The Senate was silenced. The logic was undeniable. Revan Shan wasn't just a Jedi; he was an institution.
The Audit of Autonomy
Deep in the vents of the Mustafar foundry, Revan sat for a moment, his Sonic Screwdriver whirring as he hacked into the Separatist manifest. He wasn't just looking for droid counts; he was looking for loopholes.
"Cortana, what does the Dantooine Military Accord of 115 BBY say about 'Planetary Resources seized during an active insurgency'?"
"Master," Cortana replied, her blue avatar flickering on his gauntlet. "It states that any 'non-essential by-products' of a captured industrial site can be placed into a 'Neutral Conservatorship' for the duration of the conflict. Since you represent the Maverick Trust, which is a neutral financial body based on Lehon, you can technically 'conserve' the refined Phrik and Cortosis ore we found in the basement."
"Perfect. I love a good 'Conservatorship'," Revan chuckled. "Mark it down. We're taking three hundred tons of ore. It's for 'research' into 'Advanced Materials Science'."
He stood up, looking at the lava flowing outside the window. He didn't care about being a hero. He cared about the adventure, the thrill of the hunt, and making sure his boys were the best-equipped soldiers in history.
Financial Interlude: Month 8, 21 BBY
As the Mustafar operations wound down, Revan returned to the Sovereign's Grace. He initiated a secure, encrypted holocall to his financial trio: Kaelen, Vara, and Jax.
"Kaelen, I heard your performance in the Senate was quite the show," Revan teased, sipping a spice-latte.
"I merely presented the facts, John," Kaelen replied. "The Maverick Trust is now at 6.7 Trillion credits. Our move into 'Stable Rhythmic Anchors'—specifically the food supply for the Mid-Rim—has projected a 500% return. We are effectively the bank for half the neutral systems now."
"And the Clone Retirement Trust?"
"Current balance is 210 million credits," Vara reported. "The projected 400% return is on track. We've secured three more 'agricultural retreats' on Naboo. Your men won't just retire; they'll be landlords."
"Good," Revan said, his face softening. "They deserve a life that isn't made of plastoid and blaster fire."
The Next Step
By the time Month 8 of 21 BBY arrived, Mustafar was a shell of its former industrial self. The Separatist supply lines were in shambles, and the 596th Legion was becoming a name that caused tactical droids to stutter.
But the Force was shifting. The "Vision" network—his 6,500 satellites—captured a strange signal from the Umbara system. A world of darkness, fog, and technology that shouldn't exist.
"General," Commander Check entered the bridge. "The Council has a new assignment. It seems Umbara is revolting, and they want the 'Maverick's touch' to settle the sector."
Revan looked at his red and purple lightsabers sitting on the console. "Umbara. The Shadow World. Lovely. I've always wanted to see if my Westar 35s could double as a flashlight."
He stood up, pulling his hood over his face once more. "Tell the boys to pack their EMPs. We're going somewhere very dark. And Admiral? Make sure the spice-latte machine is fully stocked. I have a feeling I'm going to need the caffeine."