Star Wars: Journey to The Force Awakens: The Crimson Corsair and the Lost Treasure of Count Dooku

by Landry Q. Walker

  The cruiser shuddered again. The explosive storm outside was putting the final touches on the already ruined warship. Soon the infrastructure would fail completely.

  “Okay, look…there could be anything frozen in there!” Pendewqell said with an optimism he didn’t really feel. “I bet it’s something, or someone, really valuable!”

  In unison, the crew glared at the Ishi Tib.

  “Well…if it’s not valuable, why is it in a vault?” Pendewqell yelled in exasperation.

  The Corsair nodded.

  Quiggold shrugged in agreement. “It’s a fair point. Let’s deactivate it.”

  Squeaky and Reveth took hold of the pod while Pendewqell began pressing buttons on the side panel of the emergency generator system that had kept the stasis field intact. Within seconds, the pod began to open and the form of what was stored within became clear for all to see.

  A Republic clone trooper.

  Alive, decades after the end of the Clone Wars.

  “Where…where am I?” stammered the trooper.

  BATTLE DROID B1-CC14 had seen better days. In the decades since the crash on the surface of Ponemah, the droid had been subject to corrosion and circuit degradation. Not that it had mattered, since the droid had also been without power all that time.

  Until now. Now something had sparked the power receptors of the crashed ship and its systems were slowly recharging.

  With his one good sensor, B1-CC14 took note of a troubling alert on the half-shattered console before him. The cargo—Count Dooku’s prize—had been released from cryo-cycle stasis. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The clone trooper had been captured on Coruscant at great peril and locked in long-term medical stasis after rigorous interrogation. Apparently, the clone had been the last being to speak to a well-known Republic traitor and was believed to be in possession of vital information—not that he had been willing to confess said information to his droid interrogators. So under strict orders from Count Dooku, the clone had been frozen in stasis, and no one else, not even the droids, were to speak with him further. Not until Dooku himself could question the clone directly.

  That had been the plan. But something—B1-CC14 didn’t really know what—had gone wrong. It didn’t really matter. The end result was that the ship had been detected and was attacked by an overwhelming Republic force, and all the droid’s attempts to escape the destruction had failed.

  Now there was only one command left that mattered. Count Dooku had been very specific. The captive was not allowed to escape, no matter what the cost.

  Well, B1 knew he could still fulfill that part of the order.

  With his last ebb of energy, the droid triggered the emergency activation systems—the ones that would mobilize a contingent of super battle droids on a fail-safe battery. Within minutes, more than a dozen super battle droids would sweep the corridors and remove any unwanted visitors.

  And with that, B1-CC14 returned to the sweet oblivion of deactivation.

  REVETH QUICKLY moved to help the trooper to his feet. It was a mistake; despite decades frozen in stasis, it was clear the clone’s fighting instincts were intact.

  “You don’t understand!” the trooper yelled as he shoved Reveth backward. The clone looked panicked. Feverish. He was babbling.

  “I’m a medic,” he said between gasps of air. “And I…I learned something…something horrible. Fives knew….He’s the one who figured it all out after Tup…and it got him killed. But I kept investigating. They said it was a virus….”

  The Corsair gestured subtly to Squeaky and Pendewqell, and the two pirates began circling to either side of the sick clone.

  “A chip in our heads. In all the clones’ heads! And an order. A command to betray…kill…and it comes from the Chancellor!”

  The clone grabbed Squeaky’s outstretched hand and flung him into the advancing Pendewqell. The effort was too much though, sending him staggering.

  “The Seppies…captured me.” The soldier was speaking fast—almost too fast to follow. It was as if the clone was unaware he was speaking out loud.

  “Interrogated me to find out who else knew.” The clone was sweating. Shaking. He looked sad. “I never had a chance to tell anyone else what I learned. I didn’t know who I could trust. But I wouldn’t tell them anyway….

  “So they said…” The pirates were quiet, listening as the sick and delirious clone continued. “They said they were sending me to someone I couldn’t keep secrets from…to the Sith….The cold…the freezing, burning cold…”

  The clone slumped to the ground. His eyes were rolling into the back of his head.

  “Stasis poisoning,” whispered Reveth. “He was trapped in there for too long.”

  “No…! I can still save them. Skywalker…” the clone whispered intently. “Get me General Skywalker! He’ll help. We can save…save the Jedi…save the Republic!”

  “What’s your ID, trooper?” Quiggold asked the recently unfrozen soldier.

  “CT-6116.” The trooper coughed. “Kix. They call me…Kix…sir….”

  And with that, the soldier slipped into unconsciousness. Reveth moved quickly to place a breather over the soldier’s face.

  “Well,” Quiggold said, breaking the long silence that had descended on the band of pirates. “That certainly was priceless information, Pendewqell. I bet the Galactic Republic will be super happy now that they can stop the Emperor from rising to power. Probably save the galaxy a whole lot of lives, too. Maybe we can go to the Jedi Council and get a nice fat reward!”

  The first mate turned to face the Ishi Tib who had foolishly led them on that treasure hunt. “So all we need to do now is travel back in time! What do you say—”

  But Pendewqell was gone.

  THE ISHI TIB had gambled heavily on the lost treasures of Count Dooku. Gambled and lost.

  The Crimson Corsair was a fair captain. Fair but not forgiving. The mission had already cost too much, more than Pendewqell could ever repay. So it was probably best for all parties if he departed now and avoided any awkward confrontations.

  He just had to reach the hatch, grab one of the single-user skiffs in the barge’s hold, and blast his way out of that hellish Sea of Sand before anyone could catch up with him. Then he could make his way to another sector. Maybe to a backwater like Wasco or Andui, or somewhere else no one ever went. Then—

  Pendewqell rounded a corner and walked directly into a large crowd of recently activated super battle droids.

  “Roger, roger,” said the one in front, and the entire droid company opened fire.

  And those were the last words the Ishi Tib ever heard.

  THE ANCIENT SHIP was coming apart, and it was all the crew of the Meson Martinet could do to stay ahead of the debris.

  The captain had ordered that the crew carry the unconscious clone. Quiggold couldn’t understand why, but given the Crimson Corsair’s mood after Pendewqell’s abrupt departure, the first mate decided maybe it was best not to argue.

  As he hauled the clone across his back, Squeaky muttered something incredibly rude. Fortunately, no one much felt like translating it. There really wasn’t time to argue anyway. With the sandstorm outside in a total frenzy, there was no time for anything but running to the docking port and escaping on the sail barge.

  So of course that was when Scorza decided to strike.

  FOOLS!” SCORZA SPAT, drawing his blaster and stepping out from the mouth of a ruined corridor to accost the fleeing pirates. “Did you really think you could escape with the treasure so easily? Did you really underestimate your nemesis so badly?”

  The crew exchanged glances. Quiggold shrugged.

  “Who are you exactly?”

  “I am Scorza!” the Weequay shouted. “I am revenge incarnate! I am your complete and total destruction!”

  “Okay,” said the first mate.

 
“‘Okay’? Is that all you have to say for yourself? Is that the best you have to offer?”

  “It’s just…” Quiggold paused.

  “What?” Scorza said, gesturing with his blaster. “Speak!”

  “There’s something you haven’t considered, I think.”

  “Oh, really?” said Scorza, his voice dry with contempt. “And what exactly might that be? What clever trick does your captain have up his sleeve this time, eh?”

  “No trick. It’s just…” Quiggold glanced at his captain.

  The Corsair raised one gloved hand and pointed at something past the Weequay.

  Quiggold continued. “There’s a company of super battle droids standing right behind you.”

  Scorza turned in surprise, half expecting to discover that he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. He hadn’t. The droids were very real. As were their blasters.

  The droids opened fire, and so ended the tale of Scorza’s quest for revenge.

  LUCKILY, the super battle droids spent quite a bit of time shooting Scorza. And in that time, the crew of the Shrike made their escape. Down one corridor after another—until finally they reached the hatch where their barge was docked.

  Quiggold and Squeaky pulled the emergency release, opening the hatch—just in time for the crew to witness a giant sand worm ripping the sail barge off its moorings and crushing the vessel with its powerful enormous jaws.

  It was impossible to tell behind his mask, of course, but Quiggold had known Sidon Ithano for a long time, and he was pretty sure the Crimson Corsair was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

  “Well…” said Quiggold, “there’s always the escape pods.”

  THERE WAS only one escape pod.

  More specifically, there was only one working escape pod that wasn’t either on the side of the ship buried in sand or surrounded by the contingent of super battle droids—which meant that not everyone would fit, and one person would have to stay behind.

  Quiggold imagined a scenario where he bravely sacrificed himself so the captain and crew could escape. But that was not what happened. Instead, while Squeaky, Reveth, and Quiggold shoved each other back and forth, vying for a position of safety, the captain stepped forward.

  Without a word, the Corsair shoved his crew and the unconscious clone into the pod. And before anyone could argue, Sidon Ithano, his face as impassive as ever behind his crimson plasteel mask, slammed the activation switch and launched the crew at high velocity through the Sea of Sand and away from the doomed cruiser.

  QUIGGOLD and the rest of the crew watched with sadness as the escape pod hurled them to safety. The cruiser was burning and sinking into the maelstrom of explosive sand.

  “Maybe…” offered Quiggold, “maybe he’s okay.”

  The crew all winced as the giant worm exploded through the hull of the ancient Separatist ship, screaming in a monstrous way that is best not described in detail.

  “Still…” Quiggold began in an optimistic tone.

  The entire ship exploded in a rage of fire and light.

  “Guess not,” said Quiggold, his voice heavy with regret.

  A WEEK PASSED. Then another. Then a third. In a derelict bar, the remnants of the crew of the Meson Martinet waited for their captain. Soon they would have to leave. Supplies were low and the desert planet was hardly a place to be without food or water.

  Still, they waited as long as possible.

  Kix, the clone, had eventually recovered—physically anyway. The trooper still seemed in deep shock over the many revelations of galactic history he had learned since awakening, particularly in regard to the assault on the Jedi Order and its fallout.

  While Kix pondered his destiny in the strange new future, the pirate crew was busy wallowing in the past.

  “He’s gone, Quiggold,” said Reveth. “And we might as well have sunk with him. We’ve lost everything. We’re ruined.”

  “I know…I know…” said Quiggold. “I just think we should wait one more week. I mean…maybe…”

  “Maybe what?” asked Reveth, agitated. “Maybe the captain somehow tamed the giant worm and rode it through an explosive desert of sand and lava? Is that what you’re hoping for?”

  Quiggold shook his head. He knew there was no chance the captain could have survived. Not really. No one…not even a Jedi of old could have escaped that hellish—

  The first mate’s jaw dropped. Reveth stood up in shock while Squeaky squealed with joy. In the doorway stood the Crimson Corsair. His cloak was in tatters and his red helmet in need of a polish, but there he was…alive.

  “H—how…?” Quiggold was at a loss.

  The Corsair waved away the questions, instead tossing a metal cube to Kix.

  “What is it?” asked Quiggold, confused.

  “It’s…it’s a Separatist cruiser’s memory core,” answered Kix. “These were designed to self-destruct. But this one…it must have malfunctioned.” The clone looked up. “This cube carries a complete map to every hidden droid factory ever built by the Separatists. Secret bases. Weapons warehouses. Everything.”

  Reveth took the cube from Kix, whistling appreciatively at it. “This would have been impossible to decode fifty years ago. Now? Easy. We track down those installations…that’s our ancient buried treasure! We’ll be rich!”

  Quiggold whistled. “And we just happen to have an expert in Clone Wars–era military installations and their security systems on hand. Welcome aboard, Kix.

  “Okay…” Quiggold continued after the shock of potential wealth had worn off, rubbing his prayer beads. “Okay…but really.” He looked up at the Corsair. “Really…how did you survive? The fire…the sand…the worm…How…?”

  The Corsair sat down on a dusty couch and stretched casually, as if nothing exciting had happened to him in ages, and leveled his gaze at his first mate. In a raspy, mechanical voice that was rarely ever heard, he said, “You know better than that, Quiggold. I’m Sidon Ithano….

  “I don’t die so easily.”