The transition from the solitary, galaxy-spanning audits of the last thirty years to the rhythmic, pedagogical responsibility of a Padawan was a localized lifestyle shift that Revan Shan met with a fresh batch of spice-latte pods, a heavy-duty Lasat-sized training mat, and a very particular brand of 11th-Doctor-esque manic energy. As 72 BBY began to unfold its ledger, the Black Pearl sat in a stable, cloaked orbit above Coruscant, its Automatic Stealth Generator ensuring the Jedi Council didn't drop in for a "localized wellness check."
Revan sat in his Sovereign's Command Chair, which was currently reclined at a forty-two-degree "Mentorship Evaluation" angle. Biologically, he was eighty-three years old—a veteran of two worlds and a dozen doctorates—yet his reflection in the viewport remained that of a man of twenty-three. Calculus, the orange-and-brown patriarch of the Loth-cats, was currently perched on Jaro Tapal's broad, purple shoulder, while Theorem was industriously auditing the structural integrity of the Lasat's massive boots.
"Right then, Jaro," Revan murmured, his voice a blend of whimsical curiosity and 12th-Doctor rasp. "According to my 3rd Doctorate in Sentient Sociology, a Master-Padawan relationship is 10% shared philosophy and 90% knowing which buttons not to press. I like lattes, things that go trill, and sassing green gremlins. I dislike bureaucracy, slow hyperdrives, and people who think the Force is a weapon rather than a feeling. Your turn. Favorite food, favorite form, and tell me why your Force-signature sounds like a tectonic plate trying to win an argument."
Jaro Tapal, even at twelve, stood nearly as tall as Revan, his frame already showing the massive muscularity of his people. His large, intelligent purple eyes blinked slowly. "I prefer protein-dense rations, Master. Sweets are... statistically unnecessary. My preference is Form III Soresu. There is a dignity in the defense. As for my signature... my people are built to stand. The Force, to me, is the ground beneath my feet."
"Soresu. The Resilience Form," Revan nodded, a shadow of 12th-Doctor gravity crossing his face as he looked at the Lasat boy. He remembered the future—the rain-slicked deck of a Star Destroyer, the clones turning their blasters on the man who had been their general, and Jaro Tapal dying as a wall to protect a boy named Cal Kestis. "A noble choice. But according to my heart, Jaro, being a wall isn't enough if the wall isn't fast enough to see the cracks forming."
The Ahsoka Protocol: Breaking the Wall
Later that afternoon, in the ship's primary training bay, Revan introduced Jaro to his new training partners.
"Jaro, meet the Audit Squad," Revan gestured to five Marksman-H Remotes refit with Beskar/Cortosis alloy. They hovered in a perfect pentagon. "I've uploaded a specialized sub-routine I call the 'Ahsoka Protocol'. It's based on the rhythmic combat data of a variable from a timeline I happen to remember. It's 25% faster than Temple standards and utilizes erratic, non-linear firing patterns."
Jaro ignited his practice saber, its blue light reflecting in his wide eyes. " Temple standards are calibrated for safety, Master."
"According to my 5th Doctorate in Galactic Lore & Ethics," Revan sassed, clicking his Sonic Screwdriver to activate the drones, "safety is a localized delusion. One day, the universe will stop asking nicely. I need you to be more than a wall. I need you to be a wall that reflects."
> The Ahsoka Deflection Variable (\Delta_{AD}):
> By his internal audit, Revan pushed the Lasat Padawan to his limits. The remotes didn't just fire; they moved in rhythmic circles, feinting shots and targeting the Lasat's massive joints. Revan utilized Battle Meditation not to help Jaro, but to sharpen the drones' intent, creating a localized pressure-cooker of combat logic.
>
"Keep your center, Jaro!" Revan shouted over the hiss of blaster bolts. "Don't just block! Anticipate the audit! If the bolt hits you, it's a failure of logic!"
The First Mission: The Oraxes Stutter
By mid-year, Revan decided the "Academic Phase" needed a localized field-test. The Black Pearl jumped to the Mid-Rim, specifically to a small mining colony on Oraxes-3. A "Force-Stutter" had been reported—a rhythmic tremor in the local environment that was causing the miners to experience hallucinations and the machinery to fail with statistical regularity.
"According to my 1st Doctorate in Theoretical Physics," Revan noted as they stepped off the ramp into the sulfurous air of the colony, "a planet doesn't just stutter. It's either an ancient engine waking up or someone is auditing the bedrock with the wrong tools."
They were met by the colony foreman, a harried Pantoran who looked like he hadn't slept since the High Republic era. "Master Jedi, the drill in Sub-Level 4 has stopped. Every time we try to restart it, the men hear screaming. Not human screaming. Logic screaming."
"Fascinating," Revan grinned, his 11th Doctor spark flaring. "Come on, Jaro. Time for your first field-audit."
The Mechanical Crisis: The Sonic Reveal
Deep in the damp, dark tunnels of Sub-Level 4, the "Stutter" was palpable. Jaro Tapal gripped his lightsaber, his fur bristling. "I feel it, Master. It's cold. Like a void in the ground."
"Force-Psychometry, Jaro," Revan whispered, kneeling by a massive, high-pressure mining drill. "Don't just look with your eyes. Feel the history of the metal."
Suddenly, the ground groaned. The drill, supposedly powered down, began to vibrate at a frequency that made Jaro's teeth ache. The safety clamps, made of standard durasteel, began to shear off like wet paper.
"The reactor is slaved to a localized resonance!" Revan shouted. "Jaro, hold the primary coolant line with Force Grip! If that pipe bursts, this whole level becomes a statistical smear!"
Jaro lunged, his massive hands reaching out through the Force. He groaned under the pressure, the tectonic strength of his Lasat heritage the only thing keeping the pipe from shattering. "Master! I can't hold it for long! The vibration... it's fighting me!"
"Right then," Revan muttered, pulling the Silver-Phrik Sonic Screwdriver from his sleeve. "Time for a touch of kindness."
Jaro watched, stunned, as Revan didn't ignite a lightsaber. Instead, he pressed the Kyber-Cyan emitter against the drill's control housing.
Whirrr-vwoop-trill-vwoop.
> The Resonance Cancellation Equation (\Omega_{c}):
> By his internal audit, Revan used the Sonic Screwdriver to broadcast an inverse frequency to the Force-Stutter. He utilized Mechu-deru to whisper to the drill's ancient logic-core, convincing it that it was actually a very quiet, very still piece of sculpture. The Screwdriver's Cyan light pulsed in sync with Revan's heartbeat, and the screaming vibration died instantly.
>
The drill fell silent. Jaro collapsed to one knee, breathing heavily. "What... what was that, Master? That wasn't the Force. That was... music."
"It's a Sonic Screwdriver, Jaro," Revan smiled, helping his Padawan up. "According to my 4th Doctorate in Advanced Engineering, it opens locks, diagnoses tech, and occasionally saves the day without cutting anyone in half. Lightsabers are for endings. This? This is for beginnings."
The Sovereign's Nap: End of 72 BBY
The mission was a localized success. The "Stutter" had been caused by a buried Rakatan power-relay that had been clipped by the drill. Revan had "kindly" moved the relay using Force Push and sealed the chamber with a Beskar-alloy plate from his ship's stores.
As the year ended, the Black Pearl drifted back toward the Mid-Rim. Revan was slumped in his chair, Calculus purring on his lap. Jaro Tapal was sitting cross-legged on the floor, meticulously cleaning his lightsaber while Theorem slept on his feet.
"Status, Cortana," Revan whispered.
"Oraxes-3 is stabilized. Jaro's deflection accuracy has increased by 12% under the Ahsoka Protocol," Cortana reported. "The 3 Billion credits are earning interest. And Master Yoda has sent a message asking why you haven't filed the mission report for Oraxes yet."
"Tell him the dog ate it," Revan yawned, the chair reclining to the Calculated Nap Angle of 134.5 degrees. "Adventure is the journey, D6. And 72 BBY was a masterpiece of Lasat walls and sonic beginnings. Try to be nice, 71 BBY. I have a feeling the galaxy is about to get a lot louder."
He closed his eyes. The Maverick was eighty-three, his Padawan was learning that 'kindness' required a screwdriver, and the audit of the future was just getting started.