The Bal'demnic system was a masterpiece of oceanic isolation. From the cockpit of the Black Pearl, the moon looked like a polished sapphire suspended in a velvet void, its surface an unbroken expanse of churning turquoise waves and jagged obsidian archipelagos. There were no sprawling cities here, no roaring spaceports—just the rhythmic, eternal pulse of the tides and the occasional cry of a cliff-nesting seabird.
Revan Shan sat in the pilot's seat, leaning back with a bag of sour lemon candies resting on his lap. He wasn't looking at the flight path; he was staring at the holographic readout of the moon's atmospheric pressure.
"You know, Cortana," Revan said, popping a candy and wincing as the tartness hit his tongue. "According to my 2nd Doctorate in Planetary Ecology, this moon is 92% saline solution and 8% things that probably want to bite me. It's remarkably consistent. If I were a Sith Master looking to hide a laboratory, I'd definitely pick a place where the neighbors are all crustaceans."
"The stealth field is holding at 100%, Revan," Cortana replied, her blue avatar flickering on the dash. "But I must remind you that the Sovereign-class shields are currently drawing 40% more power to compensate for the localized magnetic interference from the cortosis veins in the seabed. We are effectively a very expensive, very invisible submarine."
R2-D6 issued a sharp, rhythmic series of whistles from the engineering bay, which was immediately followed by a loud, metallic clank and an angry, distorted blurp.
"Chopper, try to be nice!" Revan shouted over his shoulder. "Do good! But never fail to be kind! And that includes not throwing a hydrospanner at D6 just because he's faster at the sub-aquatic calibrations!"
C1-10P rolled into the cockpit, his manipulator arms waving frantically as he issued a string of binary that sounded suspiciously like a series of Outer Rim curses. Behind him, M1-NR (Miner), the silver Librarian Protocol Droid, walked with measured, dignified steps.
"Master Shan," Miner said in a smooth, polished voice. "The C1 unit is merely expressing his frustration with the Beskar-alloy pressure seals. He believes the Advanced Engineering parameters you set are 'unnecessarily symmetrical'."
"Symmetry is the soul of aerodynamics, Miner," Revan grinned, winking at the grumbling Chopper. "And since we're about to dive five kilometers under a saline ocean, I'd prefer my ship not to fold like a cheap deck of Sabacc cards. Right then. Everyone to their stations. We're going for a swim."
The Sub-Aquatic Audit
The Black Pearl hit the water not with a crash, but with a calculated, Theoretical Physics-defying glide. Revan utilized a localized Force Barrier around the hull to cushion the impact, smoothing the transition from air to liquid. As the freighter submerged, the cockpit windows were engulfed in a world of deep, crushing blue.
"Engaging the sub-light ion-drives in 'low-frequency' mode," Revan commanded. "Cortana, sync the Automated Intelligence Satellite Probes to map the thermal vents. If there's a base down here, it's going to be leaking heat like a Hutt leaks gossip."
The ship descended. The sunlight faded into a twilight of bioluminescent flora and gargantuan, slow-moving sea shadows. Using his 6th Doctorate in Advanced Dimensional Mechanics, Revan calculated the exact refraction of the ship's Invisible Cloak against the water's density. To any sonar or visual scan, they were simply a pocket of cold water moving against the current.
"Statement: Master, my sensors are detecting a high concentration of refined cortosis approximately three kilometers ahead," HK-47 whirred, stepping up to the bridge. His Beskar-Phrik frame reflected the blue glow of the ocean. "Observation: The structural density suggests a pressurized facility of Sith-industrial design. Suggestion: We should initialize a 'Kindness Torpedo' volley. It would be a very polite way to introduce ourselves to the plumbing."
"No torpedoes, HK. We're here for an audit, not a demolition," Revan said, his eyes narrowing as a jagged obsidian spire rose from the seabed. "We're going to be subtle. Like a ghost in the machine."
He brought the Pearl into a crevasse, anchoring it against a shelf of volcanic rock. "R2, stay with the ship. Chopper, you're on external security—try not to start a war with the local squid. HK, you're with me. Miner, keep the Kyber-Quantum core running; I want every data-packet this base emits to be filed and cross-referenced."
Infiltrating the Abyss
Revan didn't use an airlock. He didn't even use a rebreather. He stepped onto the ramp, wrapped a thin, shimmering Force Barrier around himself and HK-47, and simply walked out into the crushing pressure. Using Force Enhance to keep his lungs from collapsing and his blood from boiling, he glided through the water with the grace of a manta ray.
They reached the base's primary intake vent. Revan placed his Beskar-alloy gauntlet against the cold, cortosis-reinforced steel.
"Mechu-deru," he whispered.
The Force flowed from his fingertips into the base's nervous system. He didn't break the locks; he persuaded them. He audited the security sub-routines, finding a "backdoor" in the atmospheric control that had been left open by a lazy maintenance droid centuries ago. The vent hissed open, and the two of them slipped inside.
The interior of the base was a stark, minimalist cathedral of shadow. The walls were unpolished obsidian, the air dry and smelling of sulfur and ozone. This wasn't a fortress; it was a retreat. A place for a Master to whittle wood and watch the stars from beneath the waves.
Revan pulled his black cloak tighter, the larger hood masking his face. He moved with a subtle, soundless rhythm, his Force Precognition warning him of the localized traps and alarm-sensors. He disabled them with a flick of his fingers, his Kyber-Quantum informatics gauntlet recording the Sith-encrypted data-streams as they passed.
"Someone's home," Revan whispered. "And they're making tea."
The Smiling Man's Turf
He found the "Smiling Man" in a wide, circular chamber with a transparent ceiling that looked up at the churning ocean above. Qimir was not wearing his mask. He was dressed in simple, tattered tunics, sitting on a stone bench and meticulously whittling a piece of driftwood with a small, unpowered knife.
The room was silent, save for the rhythmic shave-shave-shave of the wood.
"You know," Revan said, stepping out from behind a pillar of black stone. "According to my 3rd Doctorate in Sentient Sociology, whittling is a sign of either extreme patience or a very repressed desire to set things on fire. Which one is it today, Qimir?"
Qimir didn't flinch. He didn't even look up. The knife continued its work. "The Maverick Knight. You're a long way from the High City, Revan Shan. And a long way from the surface."
"I like the depth," Revan said, popping a lemon candy and leaning against a statue of a forgotten Sith Lord. "The pressure is very grounding. It reminds me that most of the problems in the galaxy are just bubbles waiting to pop."
Qimir finally looked up. His eyes weren't full of the raw, screaming anger of the acolytes on Khofar. They were calm. Dark. Reflective. "You shouldn't have come here. My Master does not like guests. Especially guests who carry Rakatan Logic-Keys and smell of Coruscant's incense."
"I don't smell like incense, I smell like citrus and industrial lubricant," Revan corrected sassily. "And I'm not here as a guest. I'm here for an audit. I found your laboratory on Taris, Qimir. I know about the 'Rule of Three'. I know about Tenebrus and his little academic project with you and Hego Damask."
The knife stopped. The air in the room grew heavy, a localized spike in gravity that made the obsidian floor crack.
"You know too much for a man who claims he isn't a hero," Qimir said, standing up. He didn't reach for a lightsaber. He didn't need to. The Force around him was a coiled serpent.
"I'm not a hero," Revan said, his voice dropping into the 12th Doctor's weary, ancient gravity. "I'm an adventurer. And an adventure is only interesting if you know the plot. Your Master is trying to audit the 'Biological Deficit'. He's trying to create a shortcut to Force Immortality. But he's doing the math wrong, Qimir. You can't reach the infinite by dividing the soul."
The Subtle Skirmish
Qimir moved then. It wasn't a lunge; it was a transition. He was across the room in a heart-beat, his palm striking out toward Revan's chest. Revan didn't draw his blades. He utilized Form II Makashi footwork, a microscopic pivot that let Qimir's strike pass an inch from his ribs.
He caught Qimir's wrist, utilizing Force Stasis on the stranger's arm while simultaneously delivering a Force Push to his hip. It was a subtle, efficient movement—combat as a surgical procedure.
Qimir spun out of the hold, his eyes flashing with a spark of genuine curiosity. "You fight like a ghost. No passion. No fear. Just... calculations."
"I prefer to call it 'efficiency'," Revan replied, drawing his Balanced Purple lightsaber but not igniting it. He used the hilt to parry a second strike, the Beskar-Phrik handle vibrating with the impact of Qimir's raw Force-strength. "Try to be nice, Qimir. Do good. But never fail to be kind. It's very unkind to hit a man while he's trying to give you a lecture on ethics."
"Statement: Master, the meatbag is attempting to flank you," HK-47 called out, his blaster rifle leveling at the shadows behind Qimir. "Observation: I have a clear shot at his primary locomotive appendages. It would be a very kind way to end this conversation."
"Stand down, HK!" Revan commanded.
Qimir backed away, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face. The "Smiling Man" was back. "You're interesting, Revan Shan. A variable that refuses to be solved. But my Master is coming home. And he does not audit. He erases."
A distant, low-frequency hum vibrated through the base. It wasn't a ship. it was a presence. A cold, mechanical void that made the Heart of the Force kybers in Revan's sabers pulse with a warning light.
Darth Tenebrus.
"Right then," Revan said, his sassy grin returning though his eyes remained sharp. "Adventure is the journey, but I've always found that knowing when to leave is the mark of a true professional. I've got the data I came for, Qimir. Tell your Master his laboratory on Taris is playing a very lovely loop of elevator music. I think he'll find it quite relaxing."
Revan unleashed a Force Repulse, not to harm Qimir, but to create a localized vacuum of air that shattered the chamber's windows.
As the ocean began to roar into the room, Revan wrapped the Force Barrier around himself and HK-47. "Cortana, initialize the Jump-Snap! We're leaving the party early!"
The Escape from the Deep
They shot through the water like a torpedo, the Black Pearl's tractor beam catching them mid-glide. As the ramp hissed shut and the ship lurched upward, breaking the surface and snapping into hyperspace in a single, fluid motion, Revan slumped into the pilot's seat.
He reached into his satchel and found a slightly salt-crusted lemon candy.
"R2, Chopper... get a full diagnostic on the hull," Revan panted. "Miner, did we get the data?"
"Indeed, Master Shan," the Librarian droid replied, projecting a series of encrypted files. "We have the genetic markers for the 'Acolyte' project and the localized coordinates for Tenebrus's primary observatory. It appears he is searching for a 'Star Forge Prototype' in the Dromund system."
Revan looked at the completed Revan Holocron on the dash. The ancestor's mask seemed to glow with a quiet approval.
"Dromund Kaas," Revan whispered. "The ancient seat of the Sith Empire. Now that is an adventure. But first..."
He looked at the two astromechs, who were currently engaged in a heated binary argument over who got to use the high-frequency welder.
"First, I'm going to have a cup of tea, a nap, and try to convince my droids not to dismantle each other. Adventure is a journey, D6. And I'm in no rush to reach the end."
The Black Pearl vanished into the velvet dark of the Outer Rim, leaving the oceanic moon and its smiling shadow behind. The audit was complete, and the Maverick had a new map.