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The Dread Pirate

Xim
&
The Treasure of
Darth Hevel
Written by: Michael K. Brennan

Non-Referenced full colour art by: Dmitry Yakhovsky

Black and White Sketches by: Davie Chang

Editor: Kathrine McDougall

(eastcoasteditingsolutions.com)

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 Dedicated to Kevin “Ben-Gunn” Brennan

Dear Dad, thank you for sharing your childhood in Belfast with me.
Thank you for taking me to the cinema to see The Princess Bride when I was 10.

As you wish,
Michael

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To my fellow Star Wars fan,

I hope you enjoy this work of fanfiction.

There are a few topics I’d like to speak with you about before you dive into my little tale. Allow me to
list them here for organizational purposes:

1. In-Universe dating systems within the Star Wars mythos.

2. The idea of “canonicity” as it relates to this story and the Star Wars universe.
3. Influences upon this story, along with special thanks.

In-Universe Dating Systems

To begin, this story takes place five years after Revenge of the Sith, which in this story I label as 3658
ASC. Allow me to explain:

In Star Wars literature there is no calendar or agreed upon dating system in universe. There is the BBY
designation that is widely used, and in recent times the BSW4 and ASW4 designation (which is
essentially the same thing), but these designations are an extra universe method of tracking time, used
for us the readers. But that is not to say in-universe dating systems do not exist: many certainly do. For
example, in the Legends material there are six in-universe dating systems: there is the Great
Resynchronization, After Artom, the Galactic Standard Calendar, the Sidereal Era, the Tapan Calendar
(this one being the most flushed out with months, holidays, and days of the week) and finally the Tho
Yor Arrival, which is the date that seems to have the most verisimilitude, and is a calendar that reaches
back into the furthest depths of ancient Star Wars history, going all the way into the year thirty-six
thousand.

What is more, canonically there exists six different dating systems as well: the Domancion Accord, the
C.R.C. dating system (also called the Hosnian Reckoning), the Galactic Standard Calendar (again), the
Imperial Calendar (with the abbreviations BFE/AFE – standing for “Before the Formation of the Empire”
and “After the Formation of the Empire”) along with the Lothal and Naboo calendars.

There is plenty of information online regarding these calendars, and I recommend giving each a quick
google search to appreciate their nuances.

However, even though there are already canonically asserted in-universe dating systems, and Legendary
ones as well, there has yet to be one that has “won out the day” as it were. This is where I propose to

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you, dear reader, the BSC/ASC designation: “Before the Sacking of Coruscant” & “After the Sacking of
Coruscant.”

The event I am referring to is from the Star Wars MMO The Old Republic, where Darth Malgus sacked
Coruscant. This event is stunningly depicted in the Old Republic video Deceived, which can be easily
searched on YouTube.

This event is significant enough to be seared into the collective memory of the beings of the galaxy. As
far as I know, Coruscant, the central planet and seat of galactic politics, had never been sacked. Its fall
would be equivalent to the fall of Rome in our history, and something, I think, that would be a-religious
or a-political enough that citizens of the galaxy could agree upon its significance.

We, as fanfiction readers and lovers of the Star Wars mythos, also recognize the significance of this
event, because we know how long and galaxy expanding the conflict was between Emperor
Tenebrae/Vitiate/Valcorian’s Eternal Empire and the Old Republic. The sacking of Coruscant has deep
historical roots and causes.

I also think this is a good event to choose because it would set the events of this story—five years after
Revenge of the Sith—at 3658 ASC; a number that I believe resonates with us in the year 2021 because it
sits within the thousands decimal place—like our own time—and it feels somewhat familiar. The
citizens of the Star Wars universe during this story would be living in the 36th century, which lends
credence to the idea that the Star Wars universe is old and lived in.

Canonicity

I did my best to make this story as canonical as possible, relying heavily upon Legends material, yet also
making sure it can sit comfortably within Disney canon.

I understand canonicity is a touchy subject amongst our community, but it my hope is that you will add
The Dread Pirate Xim and the Treasure of Darth Hevel to your “head canon.” If you feel like I have
veered too far from the mainstream canon, please feel free to reach out to me on Facebook (Michael
Kevin Brennan) and let me know where I’ve maybe “coloured outside of the lines” as it were.

Influences and Special Thanks

There are a few fellow Star Wars writers and artists I would like to thank, and who had an influence in
the making of this story. Firstly, I would like to thank Michael Kogge and his contributions to the story of

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Xim the Despot from Hyperspace many years ago. Michael, your work is so creative and sophisticated
and has had an outsized influence upon me. Thank you. Secondly, I would like to thank the late Brian
Daley and his Han Solo trilogy. With Daley’s stories, mine or Michael Kogge’s work does not exist.
Daley’s Han Solo trilogy is my second favorite set of Star Wars stories, only coming in a close second to
Timothy Zahn’s Thrawn trilogy. Thirdly, I’d like to thank Joel Schreiber and his novel Red Harvest, which
provides much of the narrative groundwork for my own story. Fourthly, I’d like to thank the artist, Dave
Dorman. The Star Wars: Dark Forces: Jedi Knight books are some of my most prized possessions within
my Star Wars collection. Dave’s artwork in the Jedi Knight books left an indelible mark upon me, and is
something I tried to recreate in my own story here. I so admire Dave’s work that I have three of his
signed Star Wars pieces beautifully framed and hanging in my own home. Dave, if you read this, maybe
one day you could do a commission for me of The Dread Pirate Xim and his beautiful ship The Fairwind.

Ok, so enough about timelines, and canon, and special thanks, and back to the story at hand:

I had a remarkably simple motivation in creating this tale; I wanted to put an artifact into the Star Wars
universe for you, dear friend, to possess and play with. It is my sincere hope that my characters may one
day make an appearance in your own tales.

So, without further ado, and for your use and enjoyment, I give you The Dread Pirate Xim and his pirate
galleon the Fairwind.

May the Force be with you,

And with your Spirit.

Michael K. Brennan

Star Wars is a trademark of the Disney Corporation-Lucasfilm, LTD. This is a transformative, non-
commercial work. Story and original characters are copyright 2020 Michael K. Brennan. All Rights
Reserved.

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 Chapter 1
The Jedi’s dream, The Clone’s Chance, The Pirate’s Doctor

I will have my revenge.

This was John’s pledge. He continuously rolled the phrase over in his mind, and over time the words
became coated with his anger and hatred until they formed into a pearl of great value.

I will have my revenge, he thought again as his waking dreams drifted back into his past, where, at the
edge of the high and jagged ravine he sat on a boulder looking deeply into his Master’s eyes. His Master,
also sitting on a large stone across from him, gazed back.

His hands moved vigorously as he wiped the tables clean, recalling in detail the memory. He stared
blankly out the window of the dining hall in the rustic auberge where he worked, his eyes passively fixed
on the distant spaceport shimmering in the bright morning sun, the light reflecting off the container
ships as they lifted off into high orbit. He dove deep into the daze, cleaning productively externally, his
warm and wet cloth leaving streaks of soapy water on the table’s surfaces, while internally remembering
clearly the day that changed his life.

A black and violent storm had rolled aggressively in the distance, approaching the two Jedi, collapsing
upon them the ceiling of the sky, and carrying with it an overwhelming sensation of spiritual darkness.
Lighting had flashed inside the storm and water poured out onto the coniferous forest below. In a few
minutes the storm would be over them. Oppressive air pressure constrained itself upon the warriors as
they sat in collected moments of silence, staring at each other, John waiting for his Master to speak.

The mystically dark tempest continued to close in on them, yet for the moment where they sat watching
it, all was calm. The Master and apprentice, along with their clone contingent, had routed their enemy.
The Separatist droids were all but destroyed. For the moment stillness held, but the Force was amiss.

Being high up on a cliff’s edge, the storm’s wind began to pick up and gently stroke their faces. It
slithered through the treetops. The apprentice broke the silence:

“I’m afraid, Master. Something has happened. It feels as though the universe itself has torn a hole.”

“Yes, John. Something is wrong.” The Jedi Master looked out onto the treetops below, like he was
searching for what was responsible for the feeling of dread.

“Has a Leviathan been roused from its slumber?” the Master whispered to himself. “Has the universe
been kicked off kilter?”

“I’m afraid, Master,” said the apprentice again.

I need him alive! called a panicked voice distantly in their minds. The two Jedi locked eyes.

“Be alert and sober of mind, John. The dark side of the Force is prowling about, looking to devour us.”

The Jedi had settled in a small and rocky clearing, horse-shoed by a dense forest of pines. The wind blew
and rustled about. Silent and slow-moving time passed and the middle-aged Jedi, desiring not to break

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the momentary peace, clung to the stillness. But the Force prompted him to tell John the truth. The
Force was urgently saying to him time is running out.

“Master?”

The man acquiesced to the Force’s

soft whispering wishes.

“We must speak, John. We both

feel it. There are some things I
need to tell you. Do you
remember the day that I chose
you as my Padawan?”

The young acolyte wondered how

this could have anything to do
with the moment of anxiety
hanging over them, but he also
knew his Master often connected
two seemingly disparate things, so
he answered sincerely.

“Fondly, Master. You visited me

often at the temple, but that day
was special.” The Padawan half-
heartedly smiled.

“What do you remember?”

“You brought me my
chronometer,” the boy unsnapped
a leather pocket on his belt to
show his Master the platinum
chronometer held by a silver
chain. He proudly displayed his
gift, yet he also looked around
nervously, as if something
dreadful was creeping up behind them, and fear weighed heavy in his heart. But he continued, “Master
Windu was upset with you because you met me before the selection ceremony. I remember Master
Windu was often mad at you for coming to see me.”

“Yes, he was. We saw things very differently. There were times when he would stop me from seeing
you.”

“Really? Why would he do that?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. Master Windu, along with many other Masters on the Council,
did not like that I came to see you so often. What else do you remember of that day?”

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“I remember, I think, I don’t know, I think I remember thinking that the other Padawans were jealous of
me.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Who’s to tell?”

“But I remember you carefully watching me go through my saber techniques.”

“You were quite skilled, are quite skilled. Much better than me when I was your age. You have a rare
and masterful gift of sussing out your opponents’ weakest points and breaking them. But I digress…”

The Jedi Master crossed one leg over the other and, leaning over a little, rested his elbow on his knee
and then stroked his beard. A tear fell from the young man’s eye. The Master gave him a hard yet
compassionate look, as if to say, steady-up, catch yourself on. The boy understood the look,
straightened his posture, and wiped away the tear.

“I feel it too, John. Courage now. We will take action soon; or rather, the tempest will find us, but for the
moment, we need to speak.”

A few more moments of silence passed before the Jedi began again. The black storm opened its maw
and deep thunder rumbled in the distance. It was coming closer.

“John, what do you know about the manner in which Force-sensitive children come to the temple?”

The boy’s chin wavered a little at this query, but he steadied his resolve once more, and started in
earnest to answer his Master’s question. “Much, Master. Biological parents, after having a midi-chlorian
check done by the doctors, and seeing whether their baby is Force-sensitive, freely give their child to the
Jedi Order for training. It is what is best for everyone.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Yes, Master,” the boy answered without hesitation. He went on, “There is no telling what may happen
to a child who is gifted with the Force but does not have the proper guidance of the Jedi Order. They
may get themselves into all sorts of troubles. The bronzes of the Lost Jedi are testimony to this, and they
had the benefit of Jedi training. If a Force-child had no one to guide them, then the dark side could easily
seduce them; then everyone loses.”

The Jedi Master did not like the boy’s answer, but conceding replied, “This is true.”

“Did you think of your parents at all while growing up in the Temple?” the bearded Master asked.

The boy paused to answer, “Sometimes, but also not really. Who they were, or are, is not something I
dwelled on.” He paused to think, “well, maybe when I was about seven or eight, I thought about them,
but not for a long time. At least not since you became my Master. I’m not sure if any of the other
Padawans did. Maybe some, but none of my friends ever openly wondered about their parents. The
elder Jedi loved us, and we felt content. Master Yoda was a wonderful grandfather to us all. And Master
Nu, one of the many loving mothers. Though, I always knew you would come to see me. I never had
anxiety over this.”

The Jedi Master leaned back a little and nodded softly, “This relieves me greatly, more than you know,
John.”

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 “Master Windu and I did not get along,” continued the elder Jedi. “We were comrades, yes, but not
friends.”

“That’s odd. I thought all the Jedi got along, much like me and my friends.”

“No. Things are never so easy. Did you know it was Master Windu who first took you in? Your mother
brought you to the temple herself, and it was Master Windu who performed the blood test on you.”

A thousand questions poured into John’s mind. He shot his Master a quizzical look. He couldn’t decide
which question to ask first, but finally he tumbled out, “Master Windu knew my mother?!”

“Yes, John. Let me tell you about it. Listen carefully to me now. The way you came to the temple was a
little different from the other Padawans.”

The boy did not know his origin story, so he listened raptly as his Master spoke.

In the distance, through the trees, their clone contingent was busy with their duties: preparing the AT-
RTs, arranging the fuel cells, gathering supplies, and otherwise maintaining the movement of the
Republic war machine. While the Jedi spoke, in the distance their clone commander held in his palm a
holodisk, and nodded as he spoke to a small, blue, translucent, cloaked figure. The figure uttered a
phrase, and the clone replied, “It shall be done.”

In the clearing away from the camp, the two Jedi continued to converse privately. Thunder cracked
loudly, coming nearer.

“Your mother brought you to the Jedi temple because she believed your father had died. You were
nearly a year old when this happened, and she had not had any communication with your father since
she told him she was pregnant. The reason she brought you to the Jedi temple was because your father
was a Jedi Knight.”

Tears filled the Padawan’s eyes. His chin quivered.

“She feared the worst and was finally forced by her own father, your grandfather, to give you up.”

The Jedi Master’s eyes also filled with tears, and his voice wavered as he continued, but he caught
himself as he spoke.

“She did not know that he was not dead, merely held prisoner on a distant world in a negotiation gone
awry. His captors held him for over a year, but through guile and ingenuity he managed to escape and
make his way back to the child’s mother, ready to tell her he was going to leave the Jedi Order and settle
down with her, only to discover upon his arrival that his son was now a child of the Jedi.”

The boy began to softly weep.

“To be honest, the Knight’s heart was relieved in a most selfish way. You see, his heart was torn. He did
not want to leave the Order, for it was his home and he loved it, but he also felt it was wrong to leave
the boy without a father, and to leave a young woman alone to raise a child. But, as it was, the Force
had other plans. When your mother gave you up to the Order, Master Windu pressed the young woman
to reveal the identity of the Jedi Knight who had fathered her child, but she did not speak. Master
Windu stopped short of using his powers on her, knowing that such an act would be wrong. Your

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father’s identity is still officially deemed as “unknown” to the Jedi Council, though I suspect they know
full well who he is.” At this the Master Jedi smiled a little.

He continued, “When your father and mother met again, so much had changed and she explained what
had happened in his absence. She too had a heart that was torn, desiring not to go against her father’s
command of ceasing her relationship with the Jedi. Damion Devereux, your grandfather, thought that
since the boy’s father was dead, as they believed at the time, that she should give the child to the Jedi
and let him grow at the Temple in peace. The Jedi and the young woman talked at length about the
future, and they agreed that this course of action was for the best. So the boy grew up in the Jedi
Temple under the secret and watchful eye of his father.”

Through soft tears of joy, the Master and apprentice beheld the other’s face.

“You are my father, Master?”

“Yes, John, I am your father.”

The apprentice leaped into the Master’s arms and they embraced, both weeping tears of joy.

“I always believed it, Master, but never dared dream that such a wish could be true!”

“It is true! It is true!”

“But Mast…Father,” the boy smiled a little, “what of my mother?”

“She stayed with her father on Llanic, to be obedient to him, and to help him run his inn. Her name is
Marion Devereux, and she now owns the Admiral Webbon Inn.”

“Marion Devereux,” he said in a whisper. “My name, John Devereux…Devereux.” He whispered again, “I
wondered sometimes where the family name came from. But doesn’t that mean I am really a Hawkins,
like you?”

“Yes, John. Today you are your father’s son, today you shall be known as John Hawkins, son of Sean
Hawkins.”

At this revelatory moment father and son stood by the cliff’s edge, laughing and crying, beholding each
other, and circled by a deep and abiding love. But the silent dread of the hour now pressed itself most
forcefully upon them; this small and pure moment of tenderness an affront to its own desires, and an
arcane and foreboding mystical chord of unheard music struck violently in the universe, reverberating
most profoundly in the Jedi’s hearts. Lightning struck with a violent shout just feet from them. The sky
opened and water began to rain over them, and all at once their clone contingent poured out from the
bush with blasters drawn. Without a word they opened fire on the Jedi.

Sean Hawkins quickly turned his back to protect his son, and just as fast managed to ignite his lightsaber
behind him and deflect the oncoming bolts. He spun his saber, and with one hand managed to deflect
most of the blue lasers, but many still struck him along his shoulders. He wrapped his other arm around
his Padawan son, clutching the boy close to his chest.

With only a moment of hesitation, John also ignited his lightsaber, rolled out from his father’s protecting
hold and focused his attention on their left flank as they stood on the high cliff’s edge. A murder of their
own clone contingent came forcefully forward, alternating their firing positions between high and low,

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and John, diving deep into the Force and in his mind’s eye slowing time, watched as each bolt of treason
flew from each clone’s barrel. With swift deftness he deflected back to the traitors each of their shots,
making sure to aim the bolts back at their chests.

Sean Hawkins pivoted to his right, and along with his son, deflected the laser beams, and the two Jedi,
pushed to the brink, refracted the barrage, and refused to die.

For the first few seconds of the onslaught, the Master and apprentice fell to their discipline and training
and controlled the fire of their fear as more clones poured out from the cover of the forest, firing madly.
But after only a few brief moments of catching the Jedi flat-footed, the clones could see their attack had
failed and their brothers on the front line were beginning to fall.

The fear they tried to impose on the ordered warriors now came rolling headlong back onto them. Their
own reflected beams, which now pierced their armor, were followed closely by a booming whoosh of
invisible energy that knocked them to the ground. At this turning point the Jedi attacked the clones
mercilessly.

John bounded forward into the bush with his sight set on the five clones arrayed variously before him.
Moving like a fluid dancer, his saber flew forward from his hand and pierced the clone before him
through the chest. Flipping over the soldier and Force pulling his saber from his enemy’s body and back
into his grip, he cut the next two off at the knees, bisected the fourth, and beheaded the fifth. A quick
glance to the right and he could see his father was doing the same, though more of the company was on
him.

Grizzled veterans themselves, the clone company took the appropriate recourse and retreated to the
camp where they fell to defensive positions, some of them scrambling
up the legs of the AT-RTs1.
1
Two saber throws made short work of the walker’s limbs.

“Fuel cells! Blaster! Behind me!” shouted Master Hawkins, and John
knew what his father meant. The Padawan disengaged his saber, picked
up one of the fallen clones’ blasters, and Force ran to his father’s
position, rolling prone at his father’s feet while the Master Jedi stood as
a shield.

The clones focused their fire on the standing Jedi but could not lay a
single shot.

Trusting in the Force, John pulled the trigger twice, aiming for the fuel
cells which stood neatly arrayed in the middle of the camp, resulting in
a deadly explosion of chaos.

At this fiery paroxysm, the clone company lay in complete disarray, leaving the two Jedi the moment
they needed to escape into the bush.

Except, it didn’t happen like that at all.

Everything John recalled was true up until the point of the clones’ betrayal. When the clones had poured
out of the bush with their blaster’s firing, they had made short work of Sean Hawkins. He quickly rose

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and was about to ignite his saber, but three bolts had swiftly pierced his chest. He folded forward but
managed to grab his son and put his body between him and the clones, and he whispered into his ear,
“Jump. Run. Llanic. Your mother,” while more laser bolts speared his back and audible gasps of air exited
his lungs.

John, risking a quick peek over his shoulder and past his father’s figure, saw his clone commander, CT-
6166, leading the contingent and firing his blaster at his father’s now dead body.

“Do it quickly, men! The boy is still alive! The Jedi have betrayed the Republic.”

“Erragal! What are you doing?!” John cried to the captain.

“Kill him now men! Kill him now!”

John draped his father’s dead body over him as more blaster bolts sunk into the Jedi Master’s flesh. CT-
6166, otherwise known to the company as Erragal, fell to a prone position and relentlessly fired. His
clone brothers joined him. John peaked over the high cliff’s edge and down at the evergreens swaying in
the wind far below…

A deep and reverberating chord struck.

“JOHN!” his mother yelled.

The shout shook him out of his daydream. His mother bustled into the dining room of the inn where
John was cleaning and slammed a wooden box of bottled beer onto the floor. The noisy clang of the
glass rang through the empty dining room.

“Look what you did!”

She hurried over to the table he was cleaning and aggressively pushed him to one side.

“See what you did! You shattered the window!” she jabbed her finger at it.

“Didn’t those stupid wizards teach you anything?”

John nearly toppled at the push, but he straightened himself and meekly replied, “Don’t call them
stupid.”

“I’ll call them what I want,” she shot back. “Look! Now I have to call in the repair droid,” she sighed
deeply. “It’s going to cost more money. And the miners will be coming in for their dinners soon.” She
lowered her voice and through gritted teeth she spat, “John, you need to control your emotions. What
the kriffing bloody hell was going on?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, Mom. I was just…”

“You were dwelling on the past again. That life is over. You need to stop thinking about what happened.
You need to let the past die.”

John clenched his teeth at this, his jaw muscles flexing, but his mother didn’t notice, she just continued
to lecture him as she inspected the window, her back to him.

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“The Emperor has brought us peace. I’m glad we’re done with those stupid Jedi wars.” She ran her finger
over one of the cracks. She gasped and looked at her finger as it started to bleed.

John kept his gaze on the floor as she spoke. He knew she was just getting warmed up, but still he tried
to argue.

“The Jedi…”

“No!” she cut him off, raising a bloody finger at him. “You listen to me!” She wrapped her bleeding
finger in her apron.

“You shut up about the Jedi. The Jedi were a menace to peace. They even tried to kill the Emperor. He
did what he had to do to stop them, and he’s made the galaxy a better place.”

She continued to speak while she made her way over to the inn’s comms behind the liquor bar to call in
the repair droid, her words becoming muffled and drowned out as John ignored her verbal assaults.
Words like entitled, and privileged, and supremacists shot from her mouth like hot lasers. While she
spoke, he slowly tried to make his way out of the room. It was no good arguing with her.

Five years ago, he’d arrived on her doorstep as a boy of fifteen. He’d been half-dead, injured and
hungry, covered in filth, and exhausted from running.

The image in his mind he had created while running his way to her, that of a safe home with a patient
and loving mother, was just a dream. Over time, it became apparent to the young man that the war and
her loneliness had draped her in a veneer of resentment. Her own father was killed when he was in the
wrong place at the wrong time, caught in a fight between the droid army and the Republic.
Subsequently, she was left to run the inn on her own with no help—the father of her child and her son
long gone, safe behind the high, ivory towers of the Jedi Temple, never hearing from them.

After weeks of running, John had landed at the run-down guesthouse on the outskirts of Oztek City on
Llanic within the Outer Rim Territories, to find a pro-Imperial mother who had an ax to grind against the
Jedi. It also didn’t help that she felt jilted by Sean Hawkins, her endless comments about his uselessness
never stopping since his arrival. John also came to realize his mother’s reaction to him was not helped
by the fact that he was the spitting image of his father; soft brown hair, deep blue eyes, fair-skinned,
and stalwart. She took him in not out of love, but out of obligation.

“You’re lucky to have me, John. You’re lucky to be alive. It’s time you accepted your lot in life. You need
to help me run the inn, keep your head low, and keep your powers in check, lest you bring us both
before a magistrate, and I’ll tell you what boy, let’s not hope that happens because I’m not sure what I’ll
do.”

John was nearly out of the room.

“You need to become a productive citizen of the Empire, not lazing about believing yourself high and
mighty,” she called out as he left the room.

John made his way out the back door, slamming it as he went past, and into the forest at the rear of the
Admiral Webbon Inn. Oztek City was a circular city, with a large starport at its center. The eight major
roads of the city spoked out from the center starport, each ten kilometers in length. The high-walled city

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was buttressed by an expansive forest on the north, south, and west sides of its borders, with the east
side flanked by the coast, and beyond that the Thaisium Sea.

The Admiral Webbon Inn was rooted at the end of Sixth Line Road—the entry point into the city from
the planet’s wilderness, which was home to Llanic’s many mining camps. The city’s entire population sat
along the speeder ways, with the large slices of the city unoccupied and filled with dense forest. Each
road was its own self-contained little city, with its own distinct flavor where the majority of alien groups
tended to congregate. Each line held all its own needs, including small business, cantinas, and mining
supply stores for the city’s major export: lommite. Sixth Line Road was where most of the humans of
Oztek City settled.

Situated at the intersection of the Llanic Spice Route and the Triellus Trade Route, and in addition to
being a mining outpost, Llanic was a planet where smugglers and other shady characters could hide to
keep a low profile: The Admiral Webbon Inn being the perfect place to bury oneself if one needed to
stay out of sight for a while.

Entering the forest, and heading toward his usual spot, John began to talk to himself. As he entered the
bush, he levitated a rock over the palm of his hand.

She’s an awful woman. All she does is hate.

He made his way deeper into the forest, where the shadowy canopy of the trees blocked the light from
coming in, all the while keeping the rock levitated over his hand.

A deep and reverberating string of chords struck.

I’m better than all of this. I’m a Jedi. I’m not meant for this menial life. Those clones, the Empire, they
took everything from me. If I ever…if I ever get my chance, I’ll kill them all.

Tears formed in his eyes, so he closed them. He stepped back from the floating rock and concentrated
on it.

I can see every flaw. All I must do is pour the Force into its cracks.

He focused on the stone, compelled his will into its nearly imperceptible defects and, with a physically
satisfying effort, blew it apart. He momentarily went weak in the knees as the shrapnel stuck him and
left a small cut over his cheek. The pain felt good. It was good to feel something.

With a trickle of blood running down his face, he stood before the mouth of his spot: a cave hidden by
the thick trunks and dark shadows of the woods. He entered the darkness, picking up the lantern he left
at the entrance and turning it on. The soft orange light illuminated the wet walls of the cave.

A few meters into the cave the floor dropped off. He leaped down and found his spot. He sat cross-
legged and pressed his back against the wall behind him. Arrayed before him were large boulders. He
began to breathe in and out and allowed his anger to inform his connection to the Force.

I hate it here. I hate her. I hate the Empire. I hate the clones.

A musical crescendo of strings resounded through his heart.

15
The largest of the collected boulders began to levitate and slowly started to glow. He exhaled all the air
from his lungs and stared intently at the large rock. It began to burn internally, and red fissures and
cracks began to form on its surface. He found its shatter point in his mind’s eye and poured all of his
anger into it. With a sweeping internal intent, he blew it apart. With his Jedi training he deflected the
razor-sharp shrapnel from hitting him, leaving behind him on the wall a smooth, sitting silhouette,
framed by a pock-marked surface.

Many hours had passed, and the darkness of night had ascended from the forest floor before John left
the cave. Exiting the woods, he made for the inn and could sense the ether had been stirred.

In the distance a speeder drove off, and a well-dressed man carrying too many bags struggled his way
through the inn’s front door.

Emperor Palpatine’s new Empire had no room for clones. Within a few months of the Republic’s victory,
and after its transformation into the First Galactic Empire, most of the men who made up the remnant
of the clone army were shunted off into obscurity.

Their decommissioning was not instantaneous, as the Emperor knew he needed the clones for a
transitional period. But within weeks of the war ending, conscription of regular citizens from around the
galaxy began to flood the ranks of the Army, and the order came down from the Imperial command that
the clones would be “gifted” with retirement.

Reports floated among the men as to why the Emperor had decided to dismiss his battle-hardened
fighting force, the irony not lost on them. They were “too independent of mind,” the actual words used
by the High Commission, taken from a classified dossier one of the clone officers had managed to get his
hands on and disseminate to his brothers.

The clones’ reaction to their retirement was a mixed bag, giving credence to the report. As it turned out,
the clones were not a monolithic group of men who all thought the same way. Some soldiers were
pleased, having become battle weary. Some were angry, instantly recognizing within themselves an
existential identity crisis. In due course, some turned traitorous toward the Empire, while others simply

16
lost themselves to booze and spice. Nearly all of them, however, were assigned to menial labor in the
Inner Rim—far removed from any semblance of their military life.

A choice few remained within the army to train the new batch of civilian stormtroopers. Rumor had it
that Clone Commander Cody, one of the most famous soldiers
from the Clone Wars, received a plush commission training
these civilian conscriptions at the Academy of Carida2. 2

CT-6166, known to his company as Captain Erragal, returned to

the public HoloNet terminal several times a day to check his
messages. Located across the street from the factory where he
now worked, the retired clone captain would use his breaks
from the disassembly line to jog across the dusty thoroughfare
to the terminal in the wall. He had become adept at this over
the last few years, stopping at his favorite news channels and
keeping abreast of all the political maneuverings within the
senate. He also closely followed the growing reports of rebel
activity throughout the Outer Rim.

“Rebel scum,” he muttered to himself as he filtered his way

through the different HoloNet channels.

“If the Empire would just take us back, we could hunt down
these anarchists and destroy them.” He lightly shook his head as
he waxed to the wind. “We brought order from chaos. These bastards are ungrateful.”

The soft blue light from the holoterminal lit up Erragal’s face as he leaned in closer to the screen.

“Blast Cody. He was one of the lucky ones,” he whispered faintly.

Erragal and his company of men now spent their days in the city of Shaketown on the planet Gorse,
working at a starship disassembly plant. The amount of wreckage from the Clone Wars was immense,
and five years on the Empire was still cleaning up battle sites. Many of the weapons packages, engines,
hyperdrives, and various chips contained within the ships were still very valuable, and the Empire knew
it would be remiss not to collect the resources left behind.

He remembered well the day he and his battalion were dismissed. After the Separatists surrendered,
and the Jedi were routed for their treachery, the 276th Battalion had been recalled from the Solaceterra
system where they had brought law, order, and victory.

Even though the war had ended, it was still a few days before a battle cruiser had finally picked up the
battalion from Viridis—a lush arboreal planet. The clones had loaded their walkers, tanks, and
equipment, along with the body of Jedi General Sean Hawkins into the ship’s bay. They were greeted by

17
Rear Admiral Screed3, and the Admiral and Clone Captain CT-6166 had engaged in a discussion regarding
the whereabouts of General Hawkins’s Padawan—a discussion that had left Screed displeased.

They had arrived at Coruscant where they were

ordered into a great open-air hall. Erragal had led 3
his company, and on a stage with Imperial banners
waving behind him, had been Marshal
Commander Cannon.

The Marshal Commander had thanked them for

their service, told them they had fulfilled their
obligation to the Empire and to the Emperor
himself, and that as a “thank you” for their loyalty
they were being retired to Gorse, where a suitable
habitat awaited each of them. They could continue
to show their love for the Empire by working in
one of the many factories or mines on the planet—any wages they were paid were in addition to the
monthly retirement stipend they would all receive. Without any more preamble they had been told to
hand over all armor and weapons to the requisition officers arrayed at the sides of the hall—new civilian
recruits standing beside large bins for the soldiers to toss in the accoutrements of their clone trooper
life. They were handed civilian clothes, commanded to dress, and ordered double-time to step onto the
next transport headed for Gorse.

Erragal filtered through more holonet pages when his message box lit up. It chimed at him and he
answered the call.

A young, fair-skinned man—blond haired and blue eyed—looking all the part of a pristine Imperial
officer, tightly wound in his black uniform, with a smart Imperial cap tilted forward and four red squares
over four blue squares emblazoned on his chest, snapped into speech as soon as Erragal opened the
message light. His pre-recorded message barked:

“Retired Clone Captain CT-6166, this is Major Tuckwar of Jorjun Base. We have received your fifth
message in as many rotations. To put it bluntly, Captain, no, we do not need your kind anymore. You are
relics of the past, and the Empire has moved on. Do not contact us again.” The holograph of the Major
froze at the end of the transmission. Erragal turned it off.

“What a sheb.” He deleted the message and continued his exploration of the HoloNet. Erragal made his
way to the Bounty Hunters Guild’s holopage. He knew he could collect his crew—Marduk, Martu, Ky,
Sargon, Gibil, and Dagon—to finish a minor hunt over the weekend, but bounty hunting wouldn’t get
him back into the good graces of the Empire and it never paid enough. Behind him and across the street
on the factory wall an electronic bell chimed. He was ok with being late again.

He went to his last holopage, a soldier of fortune site with jobs from across the galaxy, but he hesitated
to scroll through too far because he knew it was a source used by the Rebels, and that the Empire was
likely monitoring this corner of the holonet’s traffic. He didn’t want to appear a traitor.

“Why is this holopage even operational?” he muttered. “Maybe we can infiltrate a rebel cell, that would
get us back.”

18
He was about to pull away from the terminal when an ad caught his eye:

Wanted:
Crewman for an Expedition into Wild Space.
High Risk, High Reward.
Possibility of Treasure / Ancient Artifacts.
180 Rotation Contract.
Military Experience Desired
2000 credits a stretch minus room and board
Contact Silvermane
27282927, Corellia

A picture of a sneering, white Togorian, festooned with crossed bandoliers followed the ad, but it was
the words “ancient artifacts” that caught his eye, and instantaneously a possibility popped into his mind.
Erragal went to his message center, entered Silvermane’s contact number, and waited for the
holorecorder light to ignite on the terminal. When it turned on Erragal recorded his message:
“Greetings Silvermane, my name is Captain Erragal of the 276th Clone Battalion. My brothers and I are
interested in your job. There are seven of us and we are veterans of the Clone Wars. We are battle
trained and capable of crewing any kind of ship. We do not have our own ship and therefore cannot
meet at Corellia, but if you could head to the Inner Rim and meet us in Shaketown on Gorse, at 79’s
cantina, I’m sure you’d be glad to have us as your crew. Contact me at 85673087, Gorse.”
Erragal sent his message and quickly flipped to his contacts page. He was looking for a name.
4
“There he is. Minister Hydan .”
4
He punched in the numbers and waited for the
holorecorder light to turn on so he could leave a message.
Instead, the holocomm rang and a blue-eyed old man
wearing a dark hood answered on the other side.

“Hello? Yes? Who is this?” asked the cantankerous

septuagenarian. “A clone!? What do you want?”

“Yes, hello Minister Hydan, you may not remember me,

but we…”

“Remember you,” he interrupted, “I remember none of

you and all of you!”

“Well, yes, Minister, I…”

“How did you get this number? Who are you?”

“Yes, Minister, if I could just reintrodu…”

“All right, make it quick.”

19
“Yes, Minister, my name is Captain Erragal of the 276th Clone Battalion, I served under General Hawkins
in the Clone Wars.” Erragal gave a slight pause in anticipation of the old man’s interruption, but he
simply nodded.

“While we were under General…”

“Hawkins, yes,” the old man intruded. “I remember that Jedi. Quiet and humble, soft spoken. Still,
deadly threats often seem innocuous don’t they, clone…what did you say your name was?”

“Captain Erragal, sir, of the 276th Battalion.”

“Yes, Captain, how did you get this comm?”

“Elom, sir, if you recall.” The invocation of the planet Elom caught the Minister’s attention. His eyes
narrowed with a bit more scrutiny.

“Yes, Captain, continue.”

“If you recall, sir, near the end of the Clone Wars you were investigating some sort of, uh, archaeological
site on the planet Elom and requested some military and logistic assistance. We had just finished up
some operations near, what was it called…the Korriban system I think, and General Hawkins was
dispatched to assist you.”

“Moraband is the proper name, Captain. But yes, the Elom site, a short distance from Moraband.
Interesting find indeed.”

“Yes, Minister, I was with General Hawkins as you were explaining to him what you found there, some
sort of Jedi ritual site.”

“Not quite that, but yes, I remember all of this, but how were you able to contact me? And why is a
clone speaking to me about such things?”

“Well, to answer your first question, sir, I kept all of General Hawkins’s comm contacts, that’s how I was
able to call you.”

At this Hydan’s lips tightened and his eyes narrowed sharply.

“Interesting, hmmm, a bold and resourceful man, aren’t you, Captain? Go on.”

“Well, yes, sir, I have a job coming up that is an expedition into Wild Space, to search for, as the
employer put it, ‘treasure and ancient artifacts.’ I’m contacting you, sir, to ask, if we were able to bring
you these artifacts, and if they were of interest to you, could you use your pull in the Empire to have
myself and my brothers recommissioned into, um, some sort of military detail?” Erragal laid bare his
plan to the Minister, knowing full well the old archaeologist could scoff at it and end the call.

There were many moments of silence between the men. Erragal kept eye contact with Hydan’s
holographic image, playing in his mind what he thought was a game of chicken—trying to mask his
desperation and bespeak confidence. Finally, the Minister spoke.

“From what system will you be entering Wild Space?” Erragal was stunned. The Minister was
entertaining his offer, and the clone did not miss a beat.

20
“From beyond Mytus VII,” Erragal spat out the first system that came to mind, as if prompted to say it by
some unknown force. He wasn’t even sure why he mentioned that system specifically. But Minister
Hydan did not need to know that Erragal had not even been hired for the job, he just needed to get him
to agree to some arrangement and he’d figure everything else out as he went along.

“And who is running this expedition into Wild Space?”

“A Togorian named Silvermane. He’s on his way to Gorse now to retrieve myself and my team.”

Minister Hydan raised both of his eyebrows, “Hmm, how very serendipitous indeed. How many of you
are looking to get back into the Imperial military?”

“Seven, sir.” There was a pause.

“Wait a moment,” the face of the Minister disappeared, replaced by a rotating image of the Imperial
seal. He was gone for nearly ten minutes.

“All right, Captain. I’ll bite. I have nothing to lose here, really. When you have more information contact
me. I want to know where you are going, and what the specifics of this treasure hunt are. If you manage
to retrieve something of value from Wild Space, contact me and I will assess whether the object, or
objects, are of import or value. But be warned, Captain, Togorians are a dangerous species, and are
known to work with pirates. They are also very strong. He will not take lightly to his hired crew handing
over whatever is found to the Empire.”

“Excellent, Minister, not to worry about the Togorian, we can handle him. So, if we are successful, you
will bring us back into the military?”

“Let’s hold that out as a real possibility, Captain. Depending on how successful you are I may even be
capable of forwarding you and your compatriots’ credentials into the death trooper corps.”

“That would be outstanding, sir.” Multiple years of military service meant Erragal was well practiced at
hiding his emotions. It took him all his patience to keep his elation hidden.

“Take this encryption code and use these numbers to get a message to me when the time is right.”
Minister Hydan sent the info to Erragal, who then forwarded the code to his wrist comm.

“You will hear from us, Minister Hydan. Thank you for this chance.” The Minister abruptly ended the call.
Erragal turned from the HoloNet terminal and briskly made his way across the street. He hurried back
into the drab building where the endless task of disassembling ship parts awaited him.

A bright light flashed in the distance of space, and with a whoosh of speed, the golden-hued galleon fell
out of hyperspace, her engines billowing smoke and her well-crafted wroshyr hull showing pockmarks
from repeated cannon shots. The captain of this anachronistic ship that sailed the black seas of space,
the enigmatic Dread Pirate Xim, manned her incoming approach to Szin from the bridge.

The Dread Pirate Xim’s appearance commanded as much attention as his ship. He was clad in a full suit
of Mandalorian armor, painted solid black save for the white outline of a rose on the right side of the
chest plate, and contrasted by a red cape that flowed over his right shoulder and down past his hip. The

21
tattered tip of his cape brushed over his holstered DL-18 blaster pistol, and an ancient Sith sword was
cinched low on his other side. But the most prominent and disconcerting feature of Xim’s appearance
was the face panel of his otherwise traditionally Mandalorian helmet: a grinning white visage, its black
eyebrows faintly furrowed, with rosy cheeks and a black mustache arched upward by the grin,
culminating in a narrow, pointed beard running down from the center of the lower lip—this had been
the iconic look and aspect of the Dread Pirate Xim since before the days of the High Republic.

Standing before a large, wooden, eight-spoked helm, turning it slightly left then slightly right but always
applying gentle downward pressure, navigating his path by way of the massive windows of the ship’s
bow, Xim expertly steered the ship’s slope to the second moon of Lok. The captain called out, his voice
modulator deep and commanding, “Helmsman, status report.”

Another synthetic voice answered back, “There was a small reactor leak in both of the port side engines,
Lord. Maintenance crew one has already locked it down; the R-units handled it with 98% efficiency.
Recommend impulse power to Szin’s surface.”

“Recommendation noted, Fiji5, but we have some affairs to attend to. We will be
coming to a full stop.” Xim grabbed the throttle on a small console, waist-high next to
the helm, and slowly pulled it back. He looked over to his left at the FEG-series pilot
5
droid, seated next to him at his own control station. The droid dutifully kept track of
the ship’s systems, adjusting on the fly.

Xim’s bridge was usually neat and orderly, but the skirmish with the Zygerrians6 had
sent one of his priceless paintings askew.

“Take the helm, Fiji and await further instructions.” The FEG droid got up from his
seated station and stood behind the helm while Xim made his way across the bridge.
At the starboard side wall, he adjusted the portrait of the Fairwind by the great
master Branolyan—an oil on canvas genius. It was a piece the Pirate Lord took great
attention to care for, as it had been commissioned centuries ago.

Little did anyone know the Dread Pirate’s heart was heavy with disappointment.
6 Tackling Zygerrian slavers was not something he had planned on for his
penultimate voyage. He had only happened upon them on his return from the
surface of Elom, where he had collected his last piece of the puzzle he was intent
on solving. The Zygerrians were unexpectedly in orbit, and with Zygerrians Xim
knew to shoot first and ask questions second. He believed this idiom was always
correct, as it proved to be again, when he and his pirate crew stormed the ship
and found Elom7 captives. But the clash had come at a cost.

Silvermane, Xim’s first mate and a towering Togorian standing over eight feet tall,
ducked under the door frame as he entered the bridge.

22
“Andrew’s body is layin’ in the torpedo tube, as instructed, Capt’n. The slaves and the crew are waitin’
yer arrival in the hold,” the Togorian snarled dismissively and turned to walk away
as quickly as he had entered. 7
“Guests, Silvermane. They are not, and never were, slaves. Call them by their
rightful status—our honored guests.”

“Uugh…” the Togorian let out a low growl. “Guests,” he rumbled sarcastically. “The
crew is awaitin’.” Silvermane left, not bothering to delay for Xim.

“Fiji, you have the bridge.” Xim exited his navigation room and made his way
through his dark-brown, semi-circular, wooden halls, which were lit by
proportionally placed, soft-yellow lights. Since Silvermane took the lift to the cargo
hold, Xim turned his way down the intricately crafted, wrought iron, spiral
staircase to the platform overlooking the cargo bay. Standing on what was now his
dais overlooking all, Xim’s crew and his guests looked up at his imposing figure.

“Crew and honored guests,” he began, “before we reach the surface of Szin, we must pay our respects
to Chief Mate Andrew Woodman—a valiant warrior who gave his life for the righting of the wrongs of
the galaxy.”

At the center of the cargo hold was a single torpedo resting upon some metal frames and wheels, its
systems hatch open and containing the body of the captain’s mate. Xim quickly slid down the ladder to
the cargo bay floor and made his way to the makeshift coffin. Arrayed on one side of the torpedo were
Xim’s sailors; a garrison of refurbished Separatist commando droids, super battle droids, and droidekas;
peppered among them were the three biologics Xim trusted most: Finnbarr the Mon Calamari chef,
George the Human engineer, and Silvermane the Togorian—the heavy who kept everyone in order.

“Stand at attention,” Xim commanded. The droids dutifully formed up, while the three flesh and blood
crew stood sloppily in the middle. The dazed and confused Elom stood against the cargo bay wall, still
traumatized by the events of the past few hours, not entirely sure about what was occurring—possibly
wondering what this dreadful grinning figure wanted. Xim paused a little before he spoke to them all.

“Andrew was a good man. I had high hopes for him. He could fight with the best of us. He could drink
with the rest of us. He fought the good fight with us: setting the captives free, murdering the slavers,
robbing the rich, feeding the poor, reading deep of history, philosophy, religion, and literature with me.
He was a gentleman. A true gentleman.” Turning to the casket, he addressed the dead body. “You will
be missed, Andrew—the galaxy will miss what you had to offer. I had plans for you, but the Lord of the
Force had something else in mind.” Xim closed the makeshift casket and began to push the torpedo
toward the wall of open space.

“Solomon speed you into His kingdom!” The pirate called out as he gave one last heave to the torpedo.
It slid on its rollers and penetrated the ray shield separating the cargo hold from open space.

The coffin tumbled into the open black while the collected crew kept a moment of silence.

“Crew dismissed,” Xim said after a time. “All droids back to your stations. George, keep an eye on the R-
units and make sure everything in the engine room is at peak performance.”

23
“Yes, M’Lord,” replied the fat and scruffy middle-aged man.

“Finnbarr, prepare lunch for the four of us. Find out what Elom can eat and arrange a small meal in the
mess hall for them as well. We four shall sup in my quarters.”

“Yes, Captain Lord.” The green Mon Calamari exited the cargo hold just behind George.

Xim activated his wrist holocomm and spoke

into it.
8
“Fiji, resume a course to Szin, impulse power.
Head the ship down to the spaceport. Forward
transponder code number twelve from the list
to let Brogan’s Boys know we’re incoming.”

“Yes, Captain,” came the synthetic response.

“Silvermane, let’s make our way to Wolf-Cat

One.” The Togorian let out a low growl as he
followed behind Xim who was already making
strides to the far side of the cargo hold where
two crimson Wolf-Cats8 were settled. The
shuttles were ancient relics from the Old Republic that the Dread Pirate Xim found and refurbished.
They had been in pristine working order ever since.

“You’re in a mood,” Xim commented.

“Never mind my mood,” shot Silvermane. “Ye weren’t the only one what had plans with Andrew, but ye
had to engage the Zygerrians, didn’t ye!” Silvermane’s fur prickled up his back. His aggressiveness
piqued Xim’s own antagonism. “Yer always gettin’ distracted by rescuin’ pathetic life-forms,” he spat
out.

Xim rounded on his first mate who was slightly behind him. “What’s this all about, what plans?” Xim
stopped and squared up to the Togorian extending his left hand out to his chest, his right hand slipping
slightly to his blaster. Silvermane gained his composure, realizing he had let his own plans blunder too
freely.

“Nothin’ Capt'n, my apologies. I didn’t know ye had plans with Andrew. He and I were gonna take our
cut o’the treasures and team up once ye released us from service. He never mentioned nothin’ to me
about plans the two of ye had made—that’s all.”

Xim looked up and down the wolf-man before him. “Fair play, Silvermane.” He relaxed a little. “In
Andrew’s defense, I hadn’t really talked to him about it. I was going to, on our next voyage.” Both men’s
postures eased. Xim let the silence fill the void between them and waited for Silvermane to talk.

“Sorry, Capt'n. What be yer orders?” Silvermane fell to his haunches and stared at the floor.

“Well, my tall Togorian friend, everything was coming together for our next voyage, but we’ve come
across a snag. Did you do as I asked, Silvermane? Have you found an experienced crew?”

“Yes, Capt'n, I received a message from some…” Xim held up his hand and cut him off.

24
“Spare me the details, Silvermane. I trust your judgment. No lily men will get past you. Here is what you
are to do: load the Elom on Wolf-Cat Two and take them to wherever it is you’re going. Give each of
them five hundred credits from your personal vault and tell them they are on their own now.”

Silvermane looked up and was about to protest when Xim stopped him again.

“I will pay you back what you give, plus fifteen percent. I don’t have the time to head to my own vault
now.” He continued, “We are going to need those men. Men with real guts, gunfire, and grit; the droid
crew will not be enough for what we will be up against.”

“As ye said to me earlier, Capt'n, which I still find surprisin’: the droid crew is a ruthless lot. But I think
I’ve got the proper crew lined up. But askin’ truly, Capt'n, what are we going up against?”

“I’ll let you in on all of that later, Silvermane. Suffice it to say, we are going to need some grizzled beings
to tackle our next job.” Xim quickly changed the subject again.

“Remember that doctor I spoke of? The one we need for his notes and expertise?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, he rebuffed my invitation. It seems he has a prejudice against working with pirates, possibly me
specifically. What is more, it appears he has gone to ground. I suspect he’s heard through the grapevine
that I was at the Elom site and has probably hired his own crew to look for the treasure, though I’m not
sure how he’ll find it, I’ve got what he needs—but never mind that. I’m awaiting word from a hunter I’ve
hired to track him.”

And right on cue, the pirate’s wrist comm beeped.

“Speak of the Bogan!” Xim exclaimed. “I tell you, Silvermane, there is no such thing as coincidence.” Xim
activated his holo-transmitter. A small blue holograph of a female Frenk appeared. “Twazzi, report,” he
said.

The tall hunter replied, “I have found your quarry, Xim. Doctor Visely fled Coruscant University a few
weeks ago and I have tracked him to Llanic. He is staying at a small inn on the outskirts of one of the
mining cities. I’ll be waiting for you at Oztek spaceport. Bring payment.”

“Well done, Twazzi. A reputation well earned. Sit tight. Llanic is more than a few days’ journey for me. I
will contact you when I arrive. In the meantime, keep tabs on the good doctor.” Without a word, the
Frenk hunter ended the transmission.

“All right, Silvermane, take Wolf-Cat Two and escort the Elom to a safe harbor. Pay for Brogar’s boys to
make repairs and all necessary maintenance on the Fairwind. Get to where you need to go, collect the
crewmen, and meet us back on Szin.”

Xim spoke into his comm, and a loud, two-toned whistle echoed through the ship’s intercoms as Xim’s
voice echoed through the Fairwind. “Finnbarr, lunch will have to wait. George, you have command when
Silvermane leaves. Fiji, take the ship down.”

Xim made his way to one of the Old Republic shuttles. Before he entered, he called out, “Silvermane,
don’t forget the money for the Elom,” and boarded up the ramp. Xim powered up the ancient relic and

25
dove the Wolf-Cat One from the galleon’s cargo hold, and with the navcomputer set, the pirate zipped
into hyperspace.

26
 Chapter 2

History Lessons, Repressed Regrets, A Knock on the Door

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows along the narrow, wooden staircase as John made his
way up the steps. Arranged neatly on the tray he was balancing was Doctor Visely’s lunch, which the
young innkeeper had been taking to his guest’s room daily for the past two weeks. Slung over his
shoulder was a cloth sack that contained fresh sheets.

John came to room number one, at the corner of the inn, and gently knocked on the door. Faintly, he
could hear Doctor Visely conversing with someone in the confines of his room.

“Is zhat you, Johannes? Come in, mein junge,” the doctor called from his room. John let one hand hold
the tray while he opened the door with the other. He entered the warm, wood-paneled room to see
Doctor Visely sitting at his desk before a holo-image of a
professorial-looking Ruurian9. The strange looking alien was dressed
in a black turtleneck shirt and a brown tweed, multi-armed sport 9
coat, complete with elbow patches on all six elbows. Papers, thick
leather books, and data pads were strewn about Visely’s bed and
bureau, with topographical maps laying on the corner of the desk.

“Is it ok to continue our conversation, Doctor Visely?” asked the

Ruurian suspiciously.

“Oh, ja ja, Doctor, not to worry, Johannes is ze innkeeper’s boy and

has been quite helpful to me zees last few weeks. As I was saying,
Skynx…”

John quietly left the tray on the end table next to the small bed, and
began moving the papers and data disks off the bed and onto an
empty red velvet armchair.

“…serendipity is in ze air, my friend. Quite a few extraordinary

events occurred that brought me to zis place.”

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to get back to you professor, I was so engrossed in my own research.”

“Not to worry, Skynx, but zat is what I want to speak to you about, your own research, zat is. I need to
tell you zis, I am on ze run!”

“On the run!? What’s going on professor?”

“Ja ja, let me tell you ze story, Skynx, it is coo-coo-crazy. Two men contacted me, almost at ze same
time, about my own research a little while ago. Ze first was Minister Hydan—zis man I know, he is zat
dreadful hound of zis fascist Emperor. Zis man has been imposing himself in ze many history and
archaeology departments at ze universities for some time, you know him, ja? And he wanted my
research on Darth Hevel and her temple on Elom.”

27
John’s head bolted up at the evocation of those names and that planet. As fate would have it, he was at
the Elom site a few years ago, with his father near the end of the Clone Wars, and now vaguely recalled
what Doctor Visely was speaking about. He remembered that he and his father were called to the site to
help the archaeologist Hydan move some equipment. It was simply a logistics request, but with regards
to what the site was all about, Hydan had mentioned something to his father about an ancient Sith
temple, and later on, his father had regaled him with stories of the Sith of the ancient past.
Nonchalantly, John tried to get back to putting the sheets on the bed.

“But I did not return his transmissions, and for a long while he forgot about me, but now he came back.
Some colleagues had told me he had been to Elom a little while ago and had possibly discovered
somezing, but what I didn’t know, but zen I knew, he must have found ze missing pieces of information
leading to Darth Hevel’s hidden lair, maybe even Penweld’s journal—zat must have been it!”

John watched the Ruurian’s feathery antennae peak as Doctor Visely spoke.

“But zen zis strange man contacted me, he said he was ze Dread Pirate Xim, and I zought ‘what is zis?
Xim ze Despot from ancient days—zis is crazy!’ Skynx, it was all very strange. He is a Mandalorian, with a
white face zhat was smiling a little, and ze face on ze helmet was strange. He said he knew of my work
and was coming to get me so we could go look for Hevel’s treasure togezher, and I zought ‘He’s coming
to get me…what?…and Hevel’s treasure?—how does he know I am searching for zis too? Did he read my
books? Nobody reads my books!’ And what is crazy is he contacted me at ze same time as I was
preparing for my own expedition to Elom, because I knew Hydan had been zhere recently and I zought
maybe I missed somezing. But what is for sure, ze universe had unlocked somezing, and zat somezing
was on Elom.” Doctor Visely was speaking frantically with the Ruurian, his Bavaran accent getting thicker
as he spoke, his hands, firmly gripping his tobacco pipe, were flailing everywhere as his words tumbled
out of his mouth.

“So, zese men contacted me at ze same time—and I zought, ‘zey couldn’t possibly be working togehzeir.’
So I ran, and now I need to know what I am dealing with.”

Skynx waited patiently, never interrupting, as Visely rambled off his story from the last few weeks.

“So listen to zis, Skynx, I have to look again at some art at ze Elom site I was researching even before
Hydan made his way zhere, from my own work many, many years ago—us in the field all knew of
Hydan’s work and his obsession with ze Jedi and Sith art—and I held onto zis information, waiting for a
chance to go back, but zen the war happened and zen ze Empire came, and zen Palpatine, and everyzing
stopped. But zen zese last few years I got organized and was going to go, and now, well, here I am.”

“Are you ok, Doctor, are you hurt?” asked Skynx.

“No, no, no, my friend, I was fast. I told ze crazy pirate man ‘NO!’, but zen he sent a bounty hunter after
me, but I got away from ze hunter too.”

“A bounty hunter!?”

“Yes, Skynx, zis is all crazy stuff happening to me!”

John continued to turndown Doctor Visely’s bed as he listened to his entertaining tale.

28
John had been patiently attending to his needs since the night Visely, with his too many pieces of
luggage, had struggled his way into the inn. For the first two days neither John nor his mother heard
from him, but then on the third day the doctor cautiously left his room and asked if some breakfast
could be brought up. From then on John daily prepared his meals and tidied his room. As the days went
on, the doctor asked a little more of John, requesting that he run errands into town to pick up empty
data disks and survival supplies. But yesterday the doctor asked John to see about securing a freighter,
and possibly a small droid crew, for a trip he was planning. Listening in on his conversation with the
Ruurian, John was now putting the pieces together.

“How can I be of service, Doctor? What can I do?”

“Ja ja, Skynx, I need your help. First, you are ze expert on Xim. Who is zis Xim zat contacted me? It can’t
be Xim ze Despot from a long time ago, he is dead! But I know our research intersects because Darth
Hevel went looking for Xim’s treasure, and zen this man comes out of nowhere and says he’s Xim? What
is going on here?”

“Remarkable,” said Skynx. “The Dread Pirate Xim reached out to you. Remarkable.”

“Do you know of zis man?”

“Well yes, Doctor. But he’s not the Xim of ancient lore, like you say. Are you familiar with those stories?”

“Ja ja, Skynx, come now I know zees zings,” Visely said dismissively. “Ze Despotica, Lyechusas’s poetry,
Peshosloc's holoplays, your own translation from ze Huttese of Direus'Pei’s Evocar, zese are ze stories of
legends, plus all of my own research into ze history of Hevel—which I know you and I disagree on. But
who is zis man calling himself ze Dread Pirate Xim?” The doctor said the last part with sarcastic bravado.

“There is much speculation on this, but the Dread Pirate Xim is just that—a pirate who has stolen the
name of the original Despot and has been pillaging the galaxy since the days of the High Republic.”

“But how can zis be? Since ze High Republic? Zat is centuries! He must be a very long-lived species, no?”

“Well yes, but again there is much speculation here. My colleague, Doctor Tarkal from the University of
Rudrig, has speculated that the Dread Pirate is either an Anzati10, a Morellian11, or a Shi’ido12, but no one
knows, as the only ‘face’ we have of the Dread Pirate is the one you saw.

11
10 12

29
The earliest historical reports of this particular Xim, come from Hutt sources dating back to circa 3053
ASC, in the first few centuries of the High Republic, which is appropriate considering the antagonistic
history the original Xim had with the Hutts. These sources, in their given time periods, present a Xim
that exclusively harassed the Hutts in their territory, and like the original Xim, was a despised character.
One need only look at Hutt art and literature to see how much they hate him. But as time went on, the
sightings of Xim spanned the galaxy, and it seems no empire, or culture, or species was off limits. He
became a ubiquitous villain in some parts of the galaxy, and a hero in others. Since the rise of the
Empire, he seems to be harassing the Zygerrians, purposely disrupting the slave trade. But about this
Xim, I know he’s not the original Xim the Despot from millennia ago, but like I said, a new Xim that
appeared on the scene many centuries ago.” As Skynx was speaking, Visely waved for John to sit in the
armchair.

“So zis man is obviously dangerous, no?”

“Well yes, Doctor. He is a notorious killer of females and younglings, and his murderous reputation
spans centuries. I would say avoid him at all costs—pirates are not to be trusted, this pirate especially.”

“Ja ja. But I also zought maybe he had somezing to do with your work on ze Queen of Ranroon and ze
stories of ze treasure of Hevel. I know it is linked to the ancient stories of Xim’s treasure horde.”

“No, I don’t think so Visely—I know we disagree on this, I don’t think Hevel found Xim’s treasure. But
honestly my friend, I think all this might simply be a conflation of circumstances.”

“I see. Well, very interesting.” Visely leaned back in the red velvet armchair and inhaled a long drought
from his pipe. “But I also contacted you because I have somezing else to ask you, Skynx…” Doctor Visely
paused.

“Yes, Visely?” Skynx waited. Visely blew out a waft of smoke.

“Would you be willing to come with me to Elom to search for ze treasure of Darth Hevel?” He leaned in
closer to the holograph, his face alive with excitement. “I say it is ze same zing you are researching!
Darth Hevel found ze Queen of Ranroon and took Xim the Despot’s treasure and relocated it to her
secret lair!”

“Oh my!” exclaimed Skynx. “Well, allow me to respectfully disagree with your hypothesis, Doctor, but
what is more, oh no, Visely, not at all. I can’t go with you, I’m not an adventurer.”

“But you once said to me you would one day go looking for ze Queen of Ranroon, Skynx. Come with me
and maybe we can find somezing zhat says if zis is ze Despot’s treasure or not! Maybe we will uncover
clues! Maybe we will find treasure!”

“Oh no, no, Visely, I can’t! I’m sorry my friend—it’s just, it’s not like me to actually go traipsing off
looking for the things we research—I’m not so brave.”

“Come now, Skynx! Zis could be ze adventure of our lifetimes!”

“I’m sorry, old friend, I’ll have to decline. Good luck and contact me when you return.”

Visley leaned back in his chair, slowly shrinking.

30
“Ok, Skynx, very well. I am sorry you could not come, my friend. Good luck in your research. Goodbye.”
The holograph disappeared. Doctor Visely spun in his chair and looked at John. While the conversation
progressed, John had quietly sat in the armchair as Visely instructed.

“Well, mein junge. What do you zink?”

“About your expedition?” John asked.

“Ja, of course!” Visely said enthusiastically. “You will come with me to Elom, no?”

John’s eyes widened. “I don’t think so, Doctor.” He shook his head, “It’s been nice getting to know you
these last two weeks and helping you out, but I can’t go on an expedition with you. I need to stay here
and help out at the inn.”

“Zat’s your mozher talking. Of course you can go. You are a young and strapping boy; you need to have
some adventure in your life. I zink you need to leave here, it may not be so good for you, ja?”

“I’m fine, Doctor, plus, my life’s already had all sorts of adventure.”

Doctor Visely laughed a little. “What? Growing up a poor boy at an inn in ze far corner of ze galaxy.
Have you even left Llanic, Johannes?”

John looked down at his feet and said nothing. He clenched his jaw and went a little red.

“Oh, I am sorry, mein junge, I did not mean to hurt your feelings.” The doctor reached out a little and
put his hand on John’s shoulder, “I just zought, maybe you were looking for adventure, somezing
different zan zis place.”

John looked up and sat back in the armchair a little. He placed his feet flat on the floor and rested both
of his arms on the wings of the chair. He examined the old man before him. Doctor Visely was a fit man
of over sixty years, with short, curly, white hair parted perfectly down the middle of his head. He
sported thick and lush white sideburns that ran down his jaw, a shaved chin, and a smart mustache that
curled up at both ends. He had striking blue eyes and wore all the accoutrements of an academic: a
white button-down shirt with a black ascot, a light blue vest with silver buttons neatly running down the
middle, and a richly red formal jacket.

31
John narrowed his eyes on him a
little more.

“Darth Hevel, you say. And Elom?

Doctor, these last few weeks you’ve
told me all about the little village in
Bavara where you grew up, your
pastoral childhood with its
whimsical homes and towering
limestone castles, but what are you
a doctor of, anyway? I thought it
was just, history, in general.”

“Oh, I see zat name has got your

attention, eh? Ze Sith have always
been most intriguing. Do you know
what I mean when I say ze word
Sith?”

John nodded. He replied, “Some

timeworn spacers, when they come
around to the inn and sit by the fire,
they tell the old stories. I remember
hearing once about a Sith Lord
named Naga Sadow. That was a
good one,” John lied. The old stories
of the ancient Sith were told to him
by his father, on their many nights
by their own fires as Master and
apprentice—nights he desperately missed. The memories of those wonderful years with his father
produced a joyful melancholy in his heart. But he was fine working with Doctor Visely’s assumptions
about him. He knew of the site the doctor spoke of, but Visely did not need to know that.

Doctor Visely chuckled a little. “As I say, ze Sith are most seductive—deep down in our psyche we all
want power, no?—ze Sith, zis is what zey embody. But to answer your question: I am a history and
archaeology professor at ze University of Coruscant, and I specialize in ze history of ze Sith Empires,
specifically ze time period of ze late inter-Sith wars, of which Darth Hevel was a major player—long, long
after ze time of Naga Sadow zat you mention, mein junge—but Hevel, who was a disciple of Darth
Scabrous’s teachings, coming after him two generations later, left behind very interesting works: scrolls,
long treatises, and some holocrons—but I could never get to zose, ze Jedi said zey were off limits. But
what is also interesting is what ozher Sith after Hevel write about her. Zhey wrote zhat toward ze end of
her life Hevel amassed a huge treasure hoard with many many rare crystals, which she compiled at a
hidden castle somewhere in wild space—all part of some immortality ritual, but only two ozher Sith
mention zis. Her treasure, I zink, is actually the treasure of Xim ze Despot—but Skynx and I disagree on
zis.”

32
Like with Skynx, it seemed that Doctor Visely was just getting warmed up. He turned around in his chair,
grabbed a holodisk and ignited it. A rotating holograph of a female Elomin13 appeared. She wore a high
collared black jacket, had small tusks for cheekbones and many short,
rounded horns along her head. The Elomin were thought by some
13
xenoarchaeologists to be descended from a lost colony of Zabrak who settled
Elom in the distant past, as Elomin appearance echoed their biology.

“Zis here is an image of Darth Hevel, Johannes.”

The image floated above the old professor’s palm. “Most of ze scholars in my
field ignore ze bit about Darth Scabrous’s immortality rituals she pursued,
chalking it up to weird esoteric Jedi ramblings, and zhey focus instead on ze
idea of hidden treasure; however, one time I did discuss Hevel’s immortality
idea at length with some Jedi when I visited zheir Temple to do some
supervised research many years ago.”

John’s attention was piqued.

“You visited the Jedi Temple?” he interjected.

“Oh, ja ja, Johannes. I did so twice.”

“How many years ago?”

“Oh, let me zink...maybe fifteen years ago.”

“Do you remember which Masters you studied with?”

“Ah, you see, Johannes, all zis talk of Jedi and Sith, you see, mein junge, I have your attention now,”
Visely smiled and wagged his finger a little at the young man “like ze old spacers you say sit by ze fire
and talk with you about old legends.” The doctor sat back in his seat and smiled, looking at the slowly
rotating, holographic face of Darth Hevel. He took another drag of his pipe and filled the room with the
wisps of smoke.

Examining the image he continued, “Ze ancient texts say ze most interesting artifact of Hevel’s treasure
is somezing called ‘ze Starry Cloak of ze Daritha’ and its history goes all ze way back into the Rakatan
Infinite Empire. Zhey say if one wears it, zhey will become hidden from zheir enemies—zis is ze artifact I
am really searching for, Johannes.”

The doctor paused for a few moments.

“But enough of zis for now. Did you get a ship and some droids togezher for me like I asked, Johannes?
Ze time is coming where I need to go and start mein expedition.”

John sat up in his chair.

“I did, Doctor, I have the details right here…”

Suddenly the door of the room was violently kicked open. Staring down the two men was a figure clad in
black Mandalorian armor with a smiling, mustached mask. His blaster was pulled, and he hollered “You
can run Victor Visely, but you can’t hide!”

33
The 79’s cantina in Shaketown was a near replica of its progenitor on Coruscant. The owner of the club,
a Toydarian named Gaad Quibb, followed his customer base, and on the day of the clone’s
decommissioning he packed up his bar, loaded his transport, and headed to Gorse.

The new incarnation of 79’s was much rougher than the original. Coruscant, on the whole, was a civil
and cosmopolitan planet—at least on the upper levels. Inside 79’s cantina there, ranks had been
respected and decorum had been a real thing among the clones who frequented the bar—even as the
Clone Wars raged on. But now in Shaketown, where post-traumatic stress disorder ran rampant among
the crush of former military alpha males who frequented the establishment, 79’s cantina was one of the
most dangerous places in town, especially at the end of a labor shift on the fifth day of the work cycle.

Well past the midnight hour and in the full throes of the spice-fueled reverie, the retired clones of the
former Republic danced with the powdered night-women from off-world who, like Gaad, followed their
clientele. The gathered hoi polloi drank and blew spice while the multicolored laser lights flashed and
the rhythmic music pounded; all danced except Erragal and his crew.

They needed to stay sober this night. Silvermane was on his way, and each of the seven men were ready
for bigger and better things.

Seated at a corner table with his men, each man nursing a lager, Erragal watched the front door all
night. Two large Wookie doormen sporting stun batons stood guard. Finally, near the end of the
evening, a massive white Togorian entered the club. He was stopped and frisked by the Wookie
doormen, whom he towered over, and then allowed to enter.

Engulfed in the colored lights and throbbing beats, Erragal stood up and waved him over. The Togorian
made his way to the table, aggressively shouldering his way across the dance floor. Calls of “watch it!”
and profane exclamations came from the dancing multitude as drunk clones quickly rounded on the
intruder, sizing him up.

“Easy. Easy there!” shouted Erragal. “Wait, men! He’s with me!” Erragal’s crew stood up as Silvermane
made his way to the table. A company of inebriated clones began to follow the Togorian through the
dance floor. As Silvermane made his way to where the crew was collected, about twenty more clones
encircled him from behind. Erragal met the alien and got right in his space, but even then, Erragal’s head
merely reached Silvermane’s chest.

“You need to recalculate fur-face. Job or not, you’ll be lucky to get out of here alive.” Silvermane bared
his teeth and slowly looked around. He was about to talk when Erragal started in.

“Choose what happens next very carefully, wolf-man. You can’t come crashing in here like that. You
need to realize you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.” Silvermane slowly looked behind him and
muted his growl, he smiled a little as he stared down a murder of drunken troopers, getting from them
exactly what he wanted. He lowered his height a little and faced the gang behind him with his palms up.

“Settle down, boys. Don’t take it personal none. Just gettin’ a rise outta ye,” he chuckled.

“He’s all right, fellas. We’ve got this,” Erragal said to his brothers.

34
“He’s far from all right, Erragal, he better watch himself—we’re all itchin’ here,” called one of the clones.

“I said I got this!” Erragal barked to the crowd. “Back to your drinks!” he ordered. The clones reluctantly
dispersed. Erragal pointed at a seat and commanded Silvermane, “Sit here!” The Togorian sat down on
the semi-circular bench in the corner of the bar and was quickly surrounded by the crew. Everyone got
comfortable while all eyes looked up at the large white Togorian.

“Hell of a first impression,” said Marduk.

“Not too bright,” concurred Ky.

“How do you expect to get out of here alive?” asked Dagon.

Silvermane rumbled in his throat. “I’ll be fine. Let’s talk business. I work for a pirate named Xim. Ever
heard of him?”

“No,” said Erragal. “Should we have?”

“Yes, unless ye was born yesterday. He’s the most famous pirate in the galaxy.”

“Well, we’ve never heard of him,” Erragal replied, trying not to sound irritated. The “born yesterday”
comment bothered him. “So, he’s the one who’s hiring us?” Erragal asked.

“Yeah, but I’m his first mate on the ship the Fairwind. I suppose ye never heard of that neither?”

“You’re catching on,” said Sargon.

“We don’t much follow pirate news,” said Martu.

“Look, it don’t matter in the end anyway,” said Silvermane. “I replied to yer message because ye all said
ye fought in the Clone Wars, and since yer here it’s means ye lived, which means yer tough, and we
need some tough guys.”

“We’re that in staves,” said Gibil.

“Good. The job pays well. As the ad said, should be a hundred ‘n’ eighty rotations in all, probably work
out to fifteen hundred credits a stretch after ya pay yer keep. Times that by twenty-four and it ain’t bad
pay.” The Togorian leaned in and lowered his voice, “As the ad said—we’re goin’ inta wild space. Xim
says he’s got the lead on the location of an ancient treasure. He figures it’s worth hundreds of millions of
credits. If we get it, we’re set fer life. But he also says it’s not going to be so easy to get to. Might have
to fight a local militia or something—he hasn’t really said too much ‘bout that.” The Togorian leaned in
even closer, and the clones all followed suit. “But there’s more to the job.” The white wolf-man leaned
out and looked around, then leaned in again. “Xim’s pretty good about setting up buyers and whatnot,
and he’ll probably take a seventy percent cut, but not this time.”

“What do you mean?” asked Erragal.

“I plan on a mutiny, and I need the crew on my side.” His words dropped like a ton of durasteel on the
table. The clones leaned back a little and exchanged looks, then turned their eyes to Erragal. The pulsing
music and flashing lights of the club filled the unspoken space.

“Well, that’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?” Erragal said.

35
“Yeah, it is. But I didn’t get this far in life by being nice or asking fer stuff. Ye gotta be three steps ahead,
all the time, ye know what I mean? I’m sure hard men such as yerselves understand.”

Ky blew a low whistle. “So, you mean to kill this Xim guy when we get the treasure?” he asked.

“That’s the idea.”

“He doesn’t pay you enough?” asked Ky.

“Pay got nothin’ to do with it. I got me reasons fer this, and it’s time I took control. But if ye must know,
and in the interests of creatin’ some trust ‘tween us, I plan to be headin’ back to my home world of
Togoria and challengin’ the Margrave for his rule, but by law I can’t unless I bring a massive display o’
wealth. Once we get the treasure, and I pay ye yer cuts o’ course, I’ll take the wealth and the Fairwind,
and sail into Caross and declare me intentions to rule. But don’t worry about the killing if you ain’t got
the guts for it. I’ll do all the killin’. Ye just got to have me back when the time comes.” Some slow nods
wove around the table.

“No guts for killing?” asked Dagon incredulously. “Does this guy know who we are?”

“Not now, Dagon,” said Erragal.

“I get it,” Erragal continued. “You want the ship, the money, and the throne. That way you don’t have to
answer to anyone, am I right?”

“This man gets it,” chuckled Silvermane, thumbing at Erragal and looking at the crew. “I’ll have the
money, the droids, and the ship, and eventually I’ll be King of Togoria,” Silvermane jabbed his thumb at
himself, “with all priority mating rights.”

“Wait. Droids? What droids?” asked Erragal.

“Ah, I fergot te mention—Xim’s crew is all ol’ Separatist combat droids. There’s two other biologics on
the crew as well; George the engineer, and Finnbarr the cook.” Silvermane started to laugh. “Pretty
funny when ya think about it—I fergot that all ye did was shoot droids—you’ll be workin’ with ‘em ‘til
the end now. Then it should be like old times when the tide turns ‘gainst old Xim and his warbots.”

“Wonderful,” said Marduk.

The men shared a few moments of unspoken words. Silvermane broke the silence.

“Ye all talk the same with them clone accents. Pretty funny,” the Togorian chuckled.

Gibil and Dagon looked around the club and sipped their lagers. Marduk kept his eyes locked on the
Togorian, while Ky, Martu, and Sargon kept their focus on Erragal.

Silvermane continued, “I’ll pay ya well, not to worry ‘bout that. I’ll give ye yer fair portions of the
treasure.” Silvermane looked around the club. “This place is a real dwang-hole. This whole planet is too,
I reckon. The Empire did done ye all wrong, no doubt ‘bout that—stickin’ ya here in this pile of dwang.
It’s time ye men moved on to greener pastures.”

“That’s what I keep telling him,” laughed Sargon.

“Shut up, Sar. Empire’s taken care of us just fine,” shot Erragal.

36
“Bit of a touchy subject with ol’ Cap’n Erragal,” Gibil told Silvermane.

“Gibil, don’t you start too. Everyone here cool your jets.”

Silvermane chortled mockingly. “Looks like you got your own mutiny goin’ on here, Captain Erragal.” His
words dripped with sarcasm as he uttered Erragal’s title.

“You’re a real gem, aren’t you?” said Marduk.

“Gems are hard an’ cut sharp, so yeah,” replied Silvermane.

“Everyone shut it,” said Erragal. “Give me a sec to digest this. Everyone take a drink.” Silvermane
grabbed the clone’s pitcher of lager from the center of the table and swigged it down.

Erragal looked around at his men. Even though they were five years removed from the battlefield, they
hadn’t lost their ability to communicate without words. Their eyes all said the same thing: they were in.

“All right, Silvermane, you got your crew. When you give the word, we’ll mutiny with you.”

“Good to hear it. Meet me in the morn’ at docking bay three. Bring all yer own weapons and armor, and
we’ll meet up with the Dread Pirate Xim hisself. So, if we’re done here, I’ll be seein’ ya.” Silvermane got
up from his seat and walked out of the bar. The dancing clones made a path for him when Erragal called
out as he exited the cantina, “I need him alive, men! At ease!”

When he was gone the clones turned to each other.

“How does this get us back into active duty, Erregal? You’ve said the Imps aren’t responding to your
requests anymore.”

“I got it figured, Marduk.”

“Yeah, how?”

“Look, you remember a few years ago we went to that Jedi temple to help that old archaeologist
transport some stuff? Well, I contacted him, and he said if this treasure hunt pulls up some interesting
artifacts, and he finds them useful, he can get us back into active duty. Maybe even the death trooper
corps.”

Ky let sing a low whistle.

“You serious, Erregal?”

“Dead-on mate. If everything turns up staves we can get out of here.”

Marduk leaned back in his seat, “We can finally get out of this place and back where we’re meant to be,”
he said.

“I don’t like that we got to betray again,” interjected Sargon.

“What do you mean ‘again’, and what do you mean by that?” questioned Marduk angrily.

“Don’t start on this again, Sargon,” said Erragal.

37
“Don’t you tell me what to start and not start on, Erragal! I’ll bloody well talk about whatever I want to
talk about!”

“Give it a rest, Sar,” concurred Ky.

“We never talk about it. You mean we got to do another betrayal? Don’t tell me we acted freely Ky—
that’s sithspit! We did not act freely that day! You’re all in denial!”

“Enough, Sargon!” called Martu.

“What? That flesh-chip conspiracy again? Give it a rest, Sar.”

“How many times we got to go down this Lepi hole, Sargon? I don’t know about you, but that day I know
we acted freely—at least I did. The Jedi betrayed the Empire. They were enemies of the state—they
even tried to kill the Emperor! So, we did what we were made to do—we defended the Empire.” Erragal
was raising his voice at Sargon.

“Republic, Erragal. You forget that it was a republic. But whatever you need to tell yourself,” Sargon shot
back.

“Look, Sargon,” started Gibil, “that whole brainwash-chip theory Fives started was proved to be rubbish.
The chip was put in us as an aggression regulator—we all know that.”

“That’s garbage, Gibil, pure garbage, it was put there by someone—some say Palpatine, to control us
into killing the Jedi, that it was a plan years in the making.”

“Oh, come off it, Sar!” Marduk barked. “Not this conspiracy theory again! Do you know how much
planning and organization that theory requires? It’s staggering. No one person is that capable.”

“You want in on this job or not, Sargon?” shouted Erragal. “Because if you do, I suggest you shut up
about the Jedi.” Sargon looked at Erragal, dumbfounded and hurt.

“Yeah, of course I want to come, Erragal. You guys are my brothers. We’re a team. I go where you go.”

“Then enough of this digging up the past nonsense and questioning whatever it was that happened.
What’s done is done and there is no undoing it. As for me—and I think I speak for everyone else here—I
have no regrets. The Jedi were not the white knights you make them out to be. Their whole existence is
a problem. I’m glad we got rid of them.”

“Yeah, how so?!” shot back Dagon, coming to Sargon’s defense.

“How so!? You’ve got to be kidding me! Those dark monsters prowled the galaxy kidnapping children
and then indoctrinating them into their religious cult! They turned them into child soldiers to fight their
wars for them! They were a bunch of cosmic golden boys, gifted with god-like powers. All it takes is one
person like that to decide not to play by the rules, or accept the Code, or whatever morality they pluck
out of thin air, and then bam! They take over a planet, or a system, or whatever, and install themselves
as a king, and more war, war, war. That’s how so!”

“You’ve been reading too many of those Imperial HoloNet sites, Erragal,” said Gibil.

38
“Maybe I have, but my eyes are open, Gibil. I’m awake! The Republic could do nothing to stop a war,
could do nothing to stop an aggressor like the Separatists. With the Empire we have peace. People have
jobs, places to live, food on the table. People can get up in the morning and know they’re contributing to
something greater than themselves. That’s what the Empire gives, Gibil, peace and purpose.”

“Sounds familiar doesn’t it!” said Sargon

“Yeah? Which part?”

“The part where they’re taken as kids and made to fight, like us. The Jedi, they were like us, Erragal, they
had no mom or dad—just like us. They grew up with some Master installed over them, like us! Like us,
info was poured into their skulls, a way of thinking—programming. And golden boys, you say? What
about us, eh, Erragal? Genetically engineered by the Kaminoans to excel physically way past the ordinary
men of the galaxy. I’m not saying the Jedi didn’t try to take over the galaxy. Maybe that was their plan
all along, but I’m also not going to paint it all as black or white—there was more going on, that’s all I’m
saying,” Sargon shouted back.

“Well, you’ve got to come down on one side or the other, Sargon. I know what happened that day—we
were all there. The Jedi tried to take control of the Republic and we stopped them, plain and simple. We
were the heroes, and they were the villains. But I lied when I said I didn’t have any regrets: I do have
one—not killing John Devereux.”

The Wolf-Cats were in the hangar of the Fairwind when the Dread
Pirate Xim resurrected the galleon from the planet Ruusan. For 14
millennia the ship lay moored in an underground cove within a vast
cave, a victim of the seventh and final battle between Jedi Master
Valenthyne Farfalla’s Army of Light and
15 Sith Lord Skere Kaan’s Brotherhood of
Darkness—her pitiful forlornness taking
only a few moments to achieve at the
apex of the clash so many thousands of
years ago. After Farfalla14 and his army of
Jedi Lords were defeated by Kaan15 and
his Brotherhood, the Fairwind sat many
kilometers off from the battle site,
waiting for her master and his army to
return, but they never did. The
Brotherhood of Darkness’s thought bomb triggered tectonic convulsions
around the planet. Ruusan’s continental plates shifted and dropped the ship into a crevice, where it
splashed down onto a subterranean lagoon. There it rested, out of sight and forgotten, until geologic
time finally swallowed the ship and entombed her within Ruusan’s rocky crust.

Thousands of years later, and by mere chance, the Dread Pirate Xim found her. He immediately
recognized her beauty and worth, and over the course of a year worked to rescue the ship from her
early grave. With a crew of over a hundred men, he excavated a hole above the lagoon, repaired her

39
engines, and leveraged her off the rocky shore she was stranded on, which was no small task, as the
Fairwind was a corvette class gunship; standing over three hundred feet tall and over nine hundred feet
long, she was capable of holding a crew of over three hundred men. Sporting nine double-laser cannons,
four proton torpedo launchers, two tractor beams, and a cargo hold of nearly eighty thousand cubic
feet, she was a sight to behold when she finally stood in all her glistening glory. Modeled in the manner
of the ancient sea-faring vessels of pre-hyperdrive galactic history, she was a corvette unlike any other in
the galaxy.

After Xim managed to safely buoy her onto the cove’s dark waters, he ignited her powerful engines once
again and soared her out of her black sepulchre. Reborn and safely dry-docked on the planet’s surface,
Xim took to lovingly polishing her sides, patching her wounds, mending her masts, and making beautiful
for a second time, the massive golden unicorn protruding proudly from her bow.

Like their mother vessel, the Wolf-Cats sat in the Fairwind’s womb, neglected, and forgotten. After Xim
had made the Fairwind space worthy again, he turned his attention to the two shuttles found inside the
hangar of the gunship and restored those vessels as well. For all of the Fairwind’s unique beauty, the
crimson Wolf-Cats were pedestrian in their design. Originally engineered by the YT-Corporation, they
were stout vessels with thick hulls, complimented by a gun turret on the top and two laser cannons in
the front, with a bridge that sat near the back of the ship. They did what they were designed to do:
move passengers safely. With a basic design of an oval hull and two long engines attached at forty-five-
degree angles, the shuttles stretched fifty feet in length and had a passenger capacity of twenty-five. It
was in one of these reconditioned and ancient relics of the Old Republic that the Dread Pirate Xim now
piloted to the surface of Llanic—the site of his professorial quarry.

The blue-green, archipelago-speckled planet began to fill Xim’s view screen as he made his descent for
Perregal, the planet’s largest island continent, where Oztek City was nestled. In the
dark of space, the controls of the shuttle lit up with soft blue and red hues,
16 illuminating the four-person cockpit. As Xim worked the controls his holocomm
ignited with a blue, holographic image of Twazzi.

“I’ve cleared your arrival with the port authority. Send your transponder code now
and land your craft at docking bay three.”

“Excellent work, Twazzi,” replied Xim, “I’ll see you in a moment.” The hologram of
the Frenk16 hunter disappeared and Xim patched in his codes. He paused for a
moment and looked at his now empty holotransmitter. He pushed a button on its
semi-circular edge and a holographic portrait of a smiling young human boy, with
neatly combed hair and a space between his teeth, popped up. The painted visage
of the Dread Pirate Xim’s helmet took in the portrait for a few moments, and then
he quickly turned it off.

Passing the heat of reentry, Xim made for the small coastal city, skimmed the crimson Wolf-Cat across
the blue ocean, and lowered the ship within the rounded walls of the docking bay. Nestled neatly at
station three, Xim lowered his shuttle’s ramp to reveal the tall Frenk waiting for him with her hands on
her hips.

“Xim,” Twazzi nodded.

40
“Tawzzi,” nodded Xim.

The Frenk bounty hunter tossed him a small, square, metallic tracking device with a flashing red light.
“Your doctor has been holed up at the Admiral Webbon Inn. It’s straight down Sixth Line Road, at the
very end. He’s there with the innkeeper’s boy right now.”

“Just the two of them?”

“Yes.” Twazzi held out her hand. “Payment.”

“Of course,” Xim tossed her a bag of credits. “There is a little more in there than agreed upon. See if you
can track down where the Doctor’s ship is parked and sit tight until I give you the signal to leave.”

“I’ll give you two hours, no more. I’ve got another hunt.”

“Fair play, Twazzi.” The Frenk hunter set her chronometer and walked off. Xim went back into the Wolf-
Cat, retrieved his Skybird swoop, and sped down Sixth Line Road, racing his way out from Oztek City’s
high walls. He raced past the frenetic looking city, with its many overhanging abodes, and quickly made
his way down a lonely gravel road, framed by an old-growth deciduous forest.

The Admiral Webbon Inn17 sat at the end of

the lane, burrowed against a dense wood. Its
17 white stucco walls were contrasted by dark-
brown wooden planks arranged in cross
patterns. Its structure was an obtuse shape,
which was contradictory in its design,
seemingly devised by two people with
contrasting visions of what an inn should look
like. The structure had a rounded second
floor, capped with a bronze metallic dome
that sat atop a sharp-angled, wooden a-frame
roof. Red, brick chimneys sprouted from
three different parts of the gable and the
windows were arrayed randomly around the structure, alternating between square and circular. Xim
paused for a moment to take in the building’s architecture.

“What a beautiful monstrosity this is,” he said. He quickly examined the front of the property and took
note that there were no speeders parked outside, but it was here that the Dread Pirate made a slight
miscalculation. If he had only taken a moment to look in the back, he would have seen the Doctor’s land
speeder parked outside the second story window. But believing he was moments away from acquiring
his prey, Xim set his blaster to stun and approached the entrance of the inn. He made his way to the
large, circular front door with a handle in the middle, and took a moment to examine the entry’s wood.
It was carved and designed with care, the center of the entrance was a piece of art that displayed an
image of men carousing around a table, drinks held high and merriment all around. Entwining the
montage of the drinking men were keenly carved grapevines.

Xim entered in silence and softly made his way through the empty dining room. Soundlessly climbing his
way up the stairs while the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows along the narrow wooden

41
staircase. Xim came to room number one at the corner of the inn, and he could hear two voices faintly
conversing in the confines of the room. Drawing his foot back, he violently kicked down the door with
his blaster drawn.

Sitting before him were two stunned figures. Recognizing Doctor Visely, Xim shouted, “You can run
Victor Visely, but you can’t hide! Pack your things my good man! It’s time to go adventuring!”

42
 Chapter 3

The Mother, The Armor, The Chase

The door to Doctor Visely’s room flew open with crashing ferocity. Standing before John and the doctor
was the imposing figure of the Dread Pirate Xim, hollering commands with blaster drawn. With Jedi
deftness, John slammed the door closed again and force pushed the intruder over the second story
handrail.

“You need to get out of here now!”

“My goodness, Johannes! It was him!”

“Yes, Doctor! Get out of here now! Your speeder is below the window! Quickly, pack up what you need
and jump! I’ll hold him off!”

“But what happened? He fell backward!?”

“There’s no time Doctor, you need to go!”

John quickly grabbed Doctor Visely’s data disks, books, and papers, and stuffed them into a backpack.
He hurried Doctor Visely to the window, threw open the curtains, lifted the windowpane, and tossed the
backpack into the speeder parked below. John stood before the open portal.

“Here, Doctor, jump down before he comes back!” John waved him toward the gap.

“Zank you, Johannes! But wait! Come with me, mein junge, jump with me!” The doctor straddled the
window as he made his plea to John with his arm outstretched.

“I can’t, Doctor. I must stay. There’s no time. Go to docking bay six. The ship is there and ready to go.
Everything is on the paper I gave you. Hurry!”

“I can’t zank you enough, Johannes! I’ll be back to help, I promise.” The doctor leaped from the window.
John hazarded a quick glance over the windowsill and saw the doctor right himself in the driver’s seat,
grab hold of the controls and take off.

In the dusty room of the inn, John took a deep breath and calmly centered himself. Time began to slow,
and he could see the dust particles in the air reflecting the late afternoon sun as the splinter of light
from the open window penetrated the darkened room. The dust slowed down and came to what
seemed like a full stop, hung in the stillness of the moment. Gathering his strength in the Force, John
burst forth and used Force sprint to quickly open the door and dash down the hall. Glancing to his right
he could see in slow-moving time the Dread Pirate Xim slowly coming to his feet downstairs, the pirate’s
head turning ever so slowly to watch what must have looked like a blur of shadow tear out of sight.

John sped his way down the hall and made for the stairs that exited into the inn’s kitchen downstairs, his
plan was to get behind the pirate as he made his way back up the steps. Two blaster bolts pierced the
second floor where John dashed by, the shots missing by a wide margin, as the blur of spirit that was the
young Jedi had already zipped past.

Carefully stepping through the kitchen and coming to the side of the dining hall, John stood behind the
intruder as he was about to head back up the stairs. He cracked open the galley door and spied Xim

43
stepping his way to Doctor Visely’s room. Keeping his body hidden behind the door, John extended his
arm, palm out, and used his internal strength to reach out with the Force.

Xim froze as he nearly reached the top. Vibrations reverberated through the air as the Dread Pirate
grunted loudly, “What is this…”

Off in the distance, Doctor Visely’s speeder screamed past the inn and howled down Sixth Line Road to
the spaceport. Satisfied he’d given the doctor the head start he needed, John redoubled his
determination and fell to his discipline. His face contorted as he tried to keep his concentration on the
black figure heading up the stairs, the sweat of the effort beginning to drip and soak the back of his
head. Xim himself was fighting the invisible force binding him to his spot, but the pirate was beginning to
panic, and with his own groans of effort, he slowly began to reach for his throat.

Slow-moving seconds tumbled past the competing men, the young Jedi moving deeper into his
connection to the Force. Holding his prey in his grip, John pressed harder, striking a deep and mystical
chord hidden in his spirit. He allowed this feeling of power to take control and was deeply excited by its
strength.

“Please…” gasped Xim, “please stop…” John crunched his stomach muscles further and could feel his
strength and concentration increasing, and a small grin began to peek at the corners of his mouth.

On the other side of the kitchen the backdoor burst open.

“John!” screeched his mother, her shrill cry startling him and breaking his concentration. John’s grip on
the pirate lost, Xim grabbed his thermal detonators and tossed them into the middle of the dining hall.
He dashed up the stairs and leaped through the same window Doctor Visely had escaped from minutes
earlier.

A fiery explosion detonated through the dining room, the hellish energy lifted John off his feet and sent
him crashing into his mother. Smaller explosions began to sound through the dining hall, the liquor bar
igniting. For several moments John lost consciousness. Smoke was beginning to fill the first floor of the
inn as he came to.

“Mom, get up. The inn’s on fire,” he said weakly. He got to his knees and gently slapped his mother’s
face, “Mom. Wake up.” He got to his feet and looked out the galley door into the dining hall, his mother
still on the floor. The entire dining room was engulfed in flames, the bright yellow and orange licking and
spreading over the ceiling. He went back over to his mother, picked her up, settled her across his large
shoulders, and carried her out of the building.

He made his way outside to the front of the inn, put his mother down and looked back at their home. It
was now completely overcome by fire.

“John, John…” His mother woke up and called his name as if in a dream. She struggled to her knees, and
then wobbly got to her feet.

“What happened?” she asked in disbelief as she looked at the inn. John was standing behind her,
watching her watch the fire. “John, it’s on fire! Do something!” she shouted as she watched her home
burn.

44
“A bounty hunter came for the doctor. The doctor escaped, but the bounty hunter blew the place up.”
John replied, somewhat coldly. Tears began to well in her eyes. “What?” she asked meekly. She watched
the fire for a few more moments and rounded on John.

“You don’t even care! If you did, you would do something!” She shot her arms in the direction of the
fire. “Do something!” she screamed.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Use your powers to put it out!” She was shaking with anger, her face contorting, her lips quivering.

“I can’t do that! That’s not how it works!”

“Liar!” she screeched. “You’re a Jedi, you have powers! Put it out now!” she howled for an unhinged
eternity.

“Mom, I can’t,” he answered gently.

She turned back to watch the fire. She cradled her face in her hands and began to weep. “This is all your
fault. None of this would have happened if you had just stayed away. You’re nothing but a curse.” John
had been absorbing her verbal abuse for five years, sometimes disparagements even worse than what
she had just uttered, but her words in this moment caught him. A swelling of tears formed in his throat,
but he swallowed them down. His heartbeat slowed, and an internal quietness to match the external
chaos swept over his being.

“I’m leaving,” he said to her. The words hit the back of her head. She turned on him again.

“You’re what?”

“Leaving,” he replied quickly.

Through gritted teeth, she aggressively pointed to the ground and pushed out, “No, you’re not. You’re
going to stay here and help me rebuild.”

“Why would I do that? You hate me.” For a moment, his honesty wiped the poisonous emotions from
her face. He could read in her expression that she was stunned and in search of something to say.

“You’re just like your father,” she spat. She had found it. “You Jedi are garbage. You don’t care about
anyone or anything but yourselves. You’re going to go follow that stupid doctor, aren’t you?” She waited
for John to say something, but he didn’t.

“I’ve heard what he’s up to, I know what he’s doing. You think I don’t know things, that I’m dumb
because I’m from the uncivilized parts of the galaxy,” all her anger came screaming out of her.

“And you’re going to go for what exactly? For power? For pride? For prestige? You Jedi believe you are
humble, but you’re not! You can’t sacrifice for anything, not even for your own mother! I’ve been
listening these last few weeks! Go and find yourself, which is so much better than being an innkeeper!
Go, go and never come back!” She was crying and quivering with anger.

“Papa, you were right!” she wept as she called to the sky. “You Hawkins men are terrible!” she shouted
at John. “Papa, I’m sorry. You were right.”

45
“Marion…” John said meekly…“I’m going.”

“Go! Get the hell out of here! Don’t come back Mr. High and Mighty! Leave!”

John turned and looked down Sixth Line Road. Very far off in the distance he could still make out the
dust from Xim’s speeder that had yet to settle. I can overtake him, he thought. His heart opened to the
music of the Force. His spirit took in the eternal tones of that ancient and universal voice, and he filled
his being with glowing power. Like a flash of light, he took off running down the lane while the
architecturally outlandish structure that had been the Admiral Webbon Inn burned and crumbled to the
ground behind him.

It wasn’t long after Silvermane left 79’s cantina that the clones began to organize themselves. After the
Togorian left the bar, Erragal and his men stayed back to finish their drinks. After taking a few moments
to digest what was ahead of them, Erragal, taking the lead as he was trained to do, began to arrange
their plans and started handing out orders.

“You guys head back to your flats and gather all your credits. Bring any personal belongings you don’t
want to leave behind. Silvermane is right, we need to move on to greener pastures, and we’re not
coming back. We’re getting back into the Empire. I’m going to go wake up Charlie. Meet me at his place
when you’re done.”

“It’s a bit late, Erragal, Charlie won’t be happy,” said Sargon.

“Never mind Charlie, Jenny will rip your head off; you’re going to wake the kids,” Marduk chimed in.

“We don’t have any other choice,” said Ky.

“You're right, Ky, we don’t, we need his equipment. Plus, it’ll be good to say goodbye to him too,”
Erragal replied.

With nods of approval the men worked their way out of their seats, saluted Erragal, and made for the
exit with their captain close behind. When the doors of the cantina opened, a light rain was in full
progression, and soft thunder, coupled with some distant flashes, echoed in the dark and distant sky.
The men split off and Erragal started his way the short distance to Charlie’s place.

Charlie served with Erragal and the company in the 267th battalion, but he didn’t go into the factories
like many of the other clones did. Charlie was a wily man who was always thinking two moves ahead,
and on the day of the decommissioning he had managed to get his hands on some of the equipment
being tossed into the bins. Jenny, his wife, was one of the requisition officers stationed at the side of the
open-air hall that day, and, as the story goes, Charlie made an offer and Jenny accepted. What began as
a small smuggling foray laced with overtones of passionate desire, led to the couple starting up a small
military surplus business on Gorse, where they then started a family and made a life for themselves.

With evening’s black net still draped over Shaketown, Erragal made the walk through the wet streets,
the city’s lamplights reflecting in the puddles at his feet. He rounded his way to Charlie’s flat, which sat
on the second story of his store. He made his way to the alley in the back of the shop and stood before

46
the big steel door. He rang the bell and waited for the ensuing din. The window above the door lit up,
opened, and a being poked its head out.

“Who’s there?” the gruff and familiar voice barked.

“It’s me, Charlie—Erragal,” The similarly sounding voice replied.

“Who’s ringing at this hour!?” a voice yelled from inside.

“It’s Erragal, Jenny. Stop hollering or you’ll wake the kids.”

“I’ll wake the kids?” the voice retorted incredulously.

“Erragal, it’s the middle of the night, what’s going on?” Charlie asked.

“I’m sorry to come around so late, but I need you to open the shop. The company and I are leaving.”

“Leaving? What? Give me a sec, I’m coming down.”

Charlie ducked his head back into his room and closed the window. Erragal could hear him making his
way downstairs to the back of the store. The locks of the big steel door opened with a clang, and it
swung open into the dark and wet alley.

“Get in, get in,” Charlie waved Erragal into the back of the store. The storeroom was poorly lit with a
faint fluorescent light coming from the overhead lamps. There were boxes and containers all stacked in
the room, with a narrow path shooting to the front of the shop. Charlie led Erragal through the path,
and the two entered the darkened store where Charlie hit more lights. The shop lit up, cold waves of a
fluorescent glow exposing aisles of military equipment, mostly from the Clone Wars.

“Hey, not bad, it finally looks ordered,” commented Erragal looking about.

“Yeah, Jenny and I finally got around to doing that organizing we’ve been threatening to do. Took a
while, but we got everything sorted.” Charlie turned to his friend, “So you’re leaving? What’s going on?”

“Yeah, well,” Erragal paused and rubbed the back of his neck a little, “we’re done here, Charlie, and we
need to move on. I need to move on.” Charlie nodded slowly, taking in the information.

“Big moves, Erragal. Moving on to what? You got something lined up?”

“Something, yeah. It’s an exploration job into Wild Space. We’ve been hired as the muscle, basically.
We might be going up against a militia.”

“A militia, ouch. Echoes of Umbara.”

“Umbara, yeah…nearly pushed that one into the back of my mind,” Erragal chuckled, shaking his head a
little. “But the guy who hired us for the job wasn’t really sure himself. There’s still a lot of question
marks. But, yeah, I think we’re done here. The last few years have been enough.”

“I hear ya,” said Charlie.

“We look up to you, Charlie, you’ve done all right, you and Jenny. Some of the other clones have found a
niche too. But my crew, they need something. The booze and the drugs and the suicides all around us
are getting out of hand. We need to regain some order.”

47
Erragal paused a little and wondered if he should say what was on his mind, but ultimately trusting
Charlie’s discretion he decided to let his big plan slip.

“I think this job can get us back into the Empire. I have a contact, and he’s open to the possibility of
giving us a commission. It all depends on how this mission goes.”

Charlie let out a low whistle, “That’s big. How do the men feel about that?”

“They’re excited. We’ve all agreed to a plan. We just want back in.”

“Big moves, Erragal. Big moves.” Charlie let a few moments wisp past, Erragal’s words hanging in the air.
“I suppose you’re here to get some gear. What do you need?” he offered.

“The men will be along shortly. I told them to meet me here,” Erragal looked out the store’s front
window to see if any had showed up yet, “but, I’ll take the best of what you have, and none of that
plastoid we were issued, something that’ll stop a blaster bolt.” Both men laughed.

“You’d think the Republic would want to protect its investment, wouldn’t you?” Charlie asked as he
started to make his way toward one of the aisles. Erragal followed.

“You’d think,” Erragal agreed. “But from what I’ve heard the new Stormtrooper armor is better than
what we had, so at least the Empire is taking better care of its soldiers than the Republic.” Charlie raised
an eyebrow at his old friend and took the measure of his body language. Erragal wasn’t kidding.

“Yeah, well, ok.” Charlie led him down one of the isles. “Here,” he pulled a large
crate off the shelf. “It’s a new type of armor that came out a few years ago. It’s 18
called composite18. It’s not as good as Mando iron, obviously, but it’s better than
general issue. It can withstand some heavy damage, it’s very light, and has a
highly advanced air circulation system in the helmet.” Charlie pulled a dark red
helmet from the case. Its design echoed a Mandalorian aesthetic but was unique
enough to remain distinct. Instead of the inverted Aurebesh ‘trill’ of Mando
design, the composite helmet had only one visual slit across the eyes for sight.
Two large, black tubes with individual metallic pumps ran out from the helmet’s
V-shaped chin and into the upper chest component. “You could wear this for
days on end and not feel sweaty or claustrophobic,” Charlie said. “It also has
voice modulation. Say something.”

“I am Erragal,” said Erragal, but his voice was completely altered. Charlie pulled
out a black piece of cloth after handing the helmet to Erragal.

“The body suit to be worn underneath is about four times more effective than
the general issues ones we were assigned. Better shock absorption, better environmental protection,
better body temperature regulation, better at resisting anything a battle can throw at it. Here, put it
on.” Erragal began to get undressed, and a knock came at the front of the store. Charlie headed to the
front, unlocked the door, and the clones of the 276th battalion greeted him with warmth and love.

“There he is!” bellowed Marduk

48
“Morning, boys,” replied Charlie in a whisper, “But keep it down, I’ve got sleeping young ones upstairs.”
The six men piled into the store and all greeted Charlie with a handshake or a pat on the back. “Erragal’s
been here doing some shopping. So, I hear you’re all off into Wild Space, off on another adventure.”

“Yeah, the Cap has signed us up for more trouble,” said Ky playfully.

“Who knows, maybe something will come out of this expedition,” replied Sargon as he came in for a
hug.

“Gold and riches await us!” Dagon said laughing.

“I’m back here boys!” said Erragal. He popped out from the aisle sporting a full suit of the new
composite armor. Decked out in red panoply, holding a DC-17m
blaster rifle19, with the slit across the helmet’s face glowing a soft
blue.

“Whoa!” said Martu, “Now that is impressive.”

“Fits like a dream, Charlie,” said Erragal. “You guys bring your
19
credits? I’m pretty sure Charlie has a set for all of us.”

“I see you found my box of DC’s; will you be taking those too?”
asked Charlie.

“We're taking it all, mate.”

Charlie and the other clones made their way to Erragal in the aisle, and then one by one they began to
divest themselves of their outer clothes: their hide vests, raw wool ponchos, denim issued one-pieces,
and grease-stained slacks. Each man, the mirror of the other, helped their brother cinch their chest
plates, plakarts, vambraces and gauntlets. A vagabond Loth-cat at the far end of the aisle watched as the
men transformed from dusty, middle-aged factory workers into blood-red warriors, each one savoring
the reclamation of their identity.

“Well, my, my, my, would you look at that lot,” Charlie stood back and drank in the seven men. They
stood tall with their chins held high, each man sporting a DC-17m repeating blaster rifle.

“You lot could take on the whole Empire yourselves,” Charlie remarked.

Their outfitting expedition had only just begun. Once they had collected their armor and blasters, they
made their way down the incendiaries aisle and began piling all manner of explosives into their
rucksacks. Martu found a Z-6 rotary blaster cannon and hefted the weapon over his shoulder.

“I’ll take one of these too, Charlie!” he called.

“Slow down, boys. Erragal, you know this isn’t for free right?”

“Not to worry, Charlie, we’re going to give you everything we got. And if this trip goes well, we’ll pay you
triple your expenses.”

49
Before they exited the store, each man carrying out more than double his weight in equipment, they
said goodbye to Charlie, doing their best to settle the bill with him and making promises to their old
comrade of credits to come upon their return.

The orange glow of the rising sun began to warm the wet vestiges of Shaketown’s evening. The city’s
starport, which lay at its heart, was a long walk for the men, but as they wound their way through the
labyrinthine layout of the town, they finally came to docking bay three where Silvermane waited.

“Look what the morn’ brings, a collection of shinies,” chuckled Silvermane as he stood by the loading
ramp. “Looks like ye got yerselves some new digs.” The clones approached the Wolf-Cat as it stood
docked on its two side engines, steam periodically jettisoning from its hull. Its ship lights were all lit and
ready for action, and the clones paused for a few moments to marvel at it.

“Look at that ancient relic! We’re flying in that thing?” called Martu as he took in the ship’s form.

“Don’t be lettin’ this ol’ gal’s ‘perence fool ye none, she’s armed to the teeth, faster than you’d expect,
and can haul a surprising amount o’ cargo too.”

“Yeah, but what is it? A relic from the Old Republic?” laughed Gibil.

“That’s right,” Silvermane deadpanned

“Oh, you’re not joking,” Gibil replied.

“Not to worry none, boys, she’s sturdy. Just wait ‘til ye get a load o’ the Fairwind, now she’s a beaut.”

“Attention!” barked Erragal, breaking Silvermane’s defense of the ship. The men lined up in formation.
“Don’t look back, men, keep your gaze ahead,” shouted Erragal. “We’re moving on, and our future
awaits! Fall in,” he called.

Silvermane headed in first and took the pilot’s seat while the clones marshaled up the ramp. The Old
Republic transport closed her cargo bay doors and lifted off into space.

The world tumbled and spun. One moment Xim had his blaster drawn and his quarry pinned, the next he
was flipping through the air.

He crashed hard through a dining room table and onto the wooden floor below. He lay dazed for a few
moments, and finally coming to, he saw a blurred form dash from the room and speed down the opened
upstairs hallway. He attempted to shoot the ghostly image, but the stun blasts from his pistol simply hit
the inn’s wooden walls.

Realizing his quarry had a head start, he dashed up the stairs once more, but was grasped by some sort
of force field as he neared the top. At first he wondered if it was some kind of ray shield, and began to
look about to try to find the energy’s source, but he quickly realized it was no such thing. In the distance
he could hear a speeder take off.

50
“What is this?” he groaned out, frozen and rooted to his spot, “What sort of dark craft is this?” He
strained against the invisible grip, pouring out his strength to reach down into his utility belt seeking
some sort of trick to break himself free.

“Is this the ghost of Admiral Webbon himself!? Has that despicable lawman finally got his ethereal
hands on the Dread Pirate Xim? Avast, you dark ghost!”

The pirate groaned and strained, but his efforts were useless. The more he struggled the more the grip
tightened, and the air around him reverberated with a deep and deafening vibration that shook his
organs. He began to gasp for breath, his ribs and core constricting, and an invisible hand began to
tighten around his throat. “Please….” Xim gasped, “Please stop…”

Suddenly a screeching voice called out in the room behind and below him. Abruptly the grip was broken.
Not squandering his moment, Xim quickly grabbed for the thermal detonators on his utility belt, flicked
their switches, tossed the incendiaries into the dining room, and clumsily pounded his way up the final
few steps and into the room where he had first cornered Doctor Visely. Spying the open window, he
dove through the square frame, not caring what lay below. Fortunately for the armored pirate it was
soft ground, and he shoulder rolled out of his built-up kinetic energy.

A deep explosion echoed through the structure as Xim ran around the building and made his way to his
waiting speeder. As he ran to the front of the inn, the pirate dodged wooden planks and large debris
that scattered at his feet and flew by his head. Scrambling for his speeder, he evaded the large wooden
beams of the busted inn that lobbed through the air at tremendous speeds with decapitating intentions.

Leaping onto his Skybird swoop, he kicked his foot onto the gearshift and throttled the accelerator while
the engine roared its guttural cry. Xim circled the swoop’s tail end, kicking up a cloud of dust as he shot
down Sixth Line Road toward the starport.

He activated his comm and called into his wrist, “Twazzi, are you there?”

“Your two hours are nearly up, Xim.”

“Yes, I understand that. Are you watching the starport like I asked?”

“I am.”

“And did you see Doctor Visely arrive?”

“I did.”

“And has he left?”

“He’s about to.”

“Attach a tracking device.”

“Already done. You need to pay me more.”

“Twazzi, you’re brilliant, I’ll be there momentarily.”

Xim looked at his speedometer and read one hundred and forty kilometers per hour. He had already
sped his way through the small village framing the sides of the road before the inn and was now racing

51
past the old-growth forest. He looked ahead and could see the starport, far off in the distance but slowly
rising on the horizon. He then looked to his side mirror and behind him. Far beyond his own cloud of
dust he could see another dust cloud gradually approaching.

“What is that?” he said aloud. He pulled back on his throttle a little more, the numbers ticking upward
to one hundred and fifty. He looked back again and watched as the cloud, which was directly behind him
and deliberately gaining, turned sharply into the forest.

Strange, he thought, but from the corner of his eye he noticed movement. Beside him he could now see
the tops of the trees shaking, and the unknown force that was pushing the treetops began to rapidly
overtake him. two trees suddenly shot out from the forest and crashed onto the road ahead of him.

The Dread Pirate Xim did all he could to decelerate his speed—he gripped the front brakes of his swoop
and jammed his heels into the reverse thruster, but it wasn’t enough. The front end of his swoop
speared itself into the fallen wood, and once again the pirate found himself catapulting through the air.

52
 Chapter 4

Sith Art, Togorian Supremacy, Cold Smoke

John dashed out from the forest, and attempting to slow his momentum, he somersaulted like a
skipping stone across the short, grassy knolls which lay outside the walls of Oztek City. His dark-blue
button-down shirt was ripped along the arms and his tan denim pants were covered in mud. Still tied
around his neck and waist was his work apron, which was once white but now, like his pants and shirt,
was torn and covered in black soot and forest debris.

He looked behind him, and seeing black smoke rising from along Sixth Line Road off in the distance, he
grinned. Knowing he hadn’t much time, he broke into a full run and darted past Oztek City’s grand stone
archway, which crested over each of its eight lanes. Skirting through the streets and leaping over R-
units, John crashed his way into docking bay six where Doctor Visely’s ship was powering up to take off.
He ran to the front of the vessel and madly waved his arms before the ship’s cockpit to catch Doctor
Visley’s attention. The doctor’s face lit up when he saw John, and he smiled and waved excitedly back at
the young man, then began to reset the ship back down on the docking bay floor. John ran around to
the back of the ship and waited for the cargo ramp to lower. He could already see the doctor making his
way to the ramp through the slowly widening gap.

Hunched over, the doctor called through the growing opening, “Johannes! You came!” Once the ramp
was down John ran up it and he and the Doctor exchanged a warm greeting.

“But what is going on?!”

“No time, Doctor! We need to leave. Have your R3-unit power the ship back up! We need to get out of
here! He’s coming!”

“Ze Dread Pirate?”

“Yes, I slowed him down some, but I’m not sure for how long.”

“But how did you get here so fast?”

“No time to explain!”

“Ja, ok.” The doctor called to the cockpit, “Arby, restart takeoff sequence and get us out of here!” An
orange and white R3 astromech unit rolled to the ship’s cockpit controls, flipped out his utility arm and
jacked his silver, cylindrical adapter into the ship’s port. The short hauler lurched sharply upward and
sprung into the atmosphere while John and the doctor lost their footing and rolled backward.

“Ok, Arby, take it easy, ja!” hollered the doctor.

Within moments the blue sky of Llanic began to blend into the black of space. The two men then righted
themselves off the floor and jumped into the front seats of Doctor Visely’s GX1 short hauler. As Doctor
Visely threw the audio system onto his head, flipped switches and made his systems check, his attention
locked on the ship’s inner workings, John found himself gazing out into the chaotic dark of the universe,
and slowly came to the realization that he had not been in space for a long time.

“I’m finally out of there,” he said in a soft whisper.

53
“What is zat you say, Johannes, you say happy zings?” asked the doctor as he continued to flip switches
and man the controls.

John sunk into the copilot’s seat a little deeper as his face softened and relaxed.

“Happy things?” John said softly. “Yeah…I think so.”

“Have you flown in space before, Johannes?” the doctor turned to him and asked. “I zought it better to
ask zis time zan to make untrue assumptions about you. I am sorry I embarrassed you back at ze inn,
zinking zat you hadn’t gone anywhere before.”

“Yeah, I’ve been to space,” he replied gently.

“Zen prepare for hyperspace, mein junge! To Elom we go!” Doctor Visely pulled back on the ship’s
hyperdrive throttle and the blue lines of lightspeed swallowed the small ship.

After the initial jump, the two sat watching the hypnotic blue tunnel of hyperspace barrel past them for
a long while before Doctor Visely finally broke the silence.

“I have so many questions for you, Johannes. May I ask zem?”

“Go ahead, Doc.”

“Ok, Johannes: so, tell me, how did you get away?”

“Ah, well,” John paused and looked to the floor. “After Xim fell and you jumped out the window, I ran
out of the room and into the kitchen. I’m not sure what happened exactly after that, but there was a
large explosion and then the inn was on fire. I got my mom out, and then I saw Xim take off after you, so
I had to make a choice.” John looked up and watched Doctor Visely’s face as he started his story and
noticed the old gentleman’s eyes were wide with excitement.

“Yes, Johannes, zen what?” Sean Hawkins had taught his son many things: how to wield a lightsaber,
how to tend a wound, how to lift rocks with the power of the Force. And another one of the things the
Jedi father taught his Padawan son was how to tell a story by a campfire. John’s eyes lit up and a huge
smile ran across his face. He turned his body to face the old fellow and his arms began to move about
excitedly.

“So, I ran to a speeder I had hidden in the back shed.”

“You had a hidden speeder zis whole time!?”

“Yeah, not even my mom knew about it! So, I hopped on my speeder and began to chase Xim down the
road!”

“No way!”

“Absolutely, and I managed to get right beside him, and he fired a few shots at me, but I dodged them!”

“Ze pirate, he shot at you!?”

54
“Yeah, but he missed, and we were blasting down the lane like a couple of mynocks out of an exogorth,
and we were fighting and jostling each other, and then I pulled right up beside him and kicked his
speeder!”

“Johannes! No!”

“I did! And as we were getting close to Oztek City, I kicked his speeder again, and he lost control and
jumped off into the bush, and his speeder blew up! And then I drove my speeder to the docking bay,
jumped off, and came and found you!”

“Johannes, you are a swashbuckler! I knew zhere was more to you, mein junge!” The doctor was
laughing and rolling with the excitement of John’s tall tale.

John knew a tale of adventure always could bring people together. Never let the truth get in the way of a
good story his father would say, probably quoting some long-dead wise soul. The two men sat in the
short hauler’s cockpit keeping watch over the ship’s gauges, smiling and at ease with each other.

“Ok. Anozher question: how was your mozher with you leaving? Did you say goodbye to her when you
went to chase ze pirate?” Doctor Visely paused a little. “When I was at ze inn I could hear ze way she
spoke to you.” He let the silence fill in what he wanted to say hoping John would interject something,
but he didn’t.

“She must have been upset?” he pushed.

John chuckled a little. He turned his back to Visely to check some of the ship’s readings on a console to
his right. His smile disappeared, and the fire of adventure that had kindled in his eyes went out.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he shrugged meekly. “Like I said, Xim trashed the place. He burned it all
down.” He shook his head a little. “So, I just left.”

“Ja.” The doctor said sympathetically. His smile had also left, noticing John had grown cold, so he tried
his best to say something comforting.

“Is your mozher ok?”

“She’s fine. Let’s not talk about her, ok?” John looked Doctor Visely in the eyes as he made his request.

“I’m sorry, Johannes, but maybe, maybe ze pirate did you a favor? No?” he shrugged slightly and
grimaced a little.

John flashed the doctor a hard look and wasn’t quite sure what to say next, but he took a moment to
take in what Doctor Visely had said. He looked out into the blue vortex of hyperspace for a long while.

“You might be right,” he replied.

“Ze Force works in mysterious ways,” waxed the doctor philosophically with a little grin. “Zat is what ze
Jedi say!” he said smiling.

“The Force, it does,” John agreed.

R3-RB whistled, and his communication script scrolled across a small screen on the ship’s console.

55
“Arby says all systems are working great, no problems for us.”

“That’s good to hear.” John patted the R3 unit on the head. “So, we’re going to Elom, then?”

“Ja, like I said to you before Xim disrupted everyzing, I need to go back zhere because Hydan was zhere,
zen Xim went zhere. Somezing is up zhere, I need to re-examine zat site. I have some leads I need to
follow.”

“Ok, so what are we looking for, why Elom?” John asked the question in earnest, but little did Doctor
Visely know that John was already familiar with the Elom site, though his question to the doctor was
genuine. When he and his father, along with their clone contingent, came to Elom the conversation his
father had with Minister Hydan had seemed purely academic, and their clone contingent were simply
asked to load containers for shipment to Coruscant University. He tried to recall what he and his father
spoke about from that day, but could only remember him saying something like a small group of Jedi
from the EduCorps were still searching the galaxy for ancient Jedi and Sith ritual sites, but there was
nothing more to it. The Elom site was just another interesting archaeological discovery, and Minister
Hydan, it seemed, just needed some logistic support.

“Ah, sit back, mein junge, we have time. Let me tell you everyzing I know.”

John swiveled his copilot seat to face Doctor Visely once more, and the doctor did the same with his
seat. The two leaned into one another and the space between them was close. The fires of adventure in
their eyes lit up again.

“Let me start with two names only a few people know: Darth Ecem, and Darth Ashef. Ze writings of zees
two Sith were ze only scrolls ze Jedi would let me look at when I was at ze temple. So, what did zees Sith
say? Zey both recorded some of ze history of Darth Hevel—who was a mentor of zheirs—and wrote zat
she followed closely the works of Darth Scabrous. Darth Scabrous’s works are no longer with us, most of
his history was lost at ze Odacer-Faustin academy—zis we know, but not much else; but Hevel
references heavily to his work, and Ecem and Ashef write about Hevel’s immortality experiments—
which Hevel takes from Scabrous’s knowledge—as well as her riches, and ze fact zhat she had in her
possession ze Starry Cloak of ze Daritha, which is what I want to explore. Ja Ja, you follow so far,
Johannes?”

“I think so Doctor, so, wait, let me see—Darth Scabrous has immortality rituals and he records them in
his body of written work, but then he dies, and his work seems to have been saved by Hevel, who you
said was a disciple of his but a few generations after. And the Jedi have Hevel’s work intact, which is
really just Scabrous’s writings, but you couldn’t get to it at the temple because the Jedi wouldn’t let you,
but you do have the work of Ecem and Ashef, whose writings are, at best, thirdhand sources of
Scabrous’s original work, and they record all of this?”

“Ja ja, Johannes, you understand! So let me go on. I zink zhat Hevel’s immortality rituals are very close to
Darth Scabrous’s, and Hevel made herself immortal, or at least somezing approximating it, and she was
successful with ze Sith rituals, and zen she amassed a great treasure, and wanted more treasure, and
zen went looking for ze treasure of ze original Dread Pirate Xim and ze Queen of Ranroon, which is why I
speak to Skynx about all of zis, but unlike Skynx, I say she found it, and moved ze treasure, along with zis
artifact, ze Starry Cloak of ze Daritha, to her secret lair hidden in Wild Space. Zis is why I wanted Skynx to
come with us.”

56
“I see, ok, so Hevel’s Sith rituals work, and she becomes immortal, or at least very powerful, and she
finds the original Xim’s treasure, which includes this artifact that’s called the Starry Cloak of the Daritha,
and she moves it all to her secret lair, which is on Elom, and that’s why we are going to Elom!” John said
the last part excitedly as he clapped his hands, like he had finally pulled all the information together.

“No!” said Visely.

John frowned.

“Almost, mein junge, let me say what is missing: Elom is not where ze secret lair is. Elom is where an
ancient Sith temple exists, and where I believe Hevel conducted some of her immortality rituals. And it
was ze site of much of my research, but zat was before ze rise of ze Empire. When ze Republic was
coming to its end—but we did not know it at ze time—zen zat little rat of a man, Hydan, came poking his
head into my research, and one day he took over ze Elom site with all his clone soldier men and chased
us university archaeologists away.”

Secretly John marveled at the serendipity of the Force. It was clear to him: the Force had put him in the
path of Doctor Visely so he could discover the secrets of Darth Hevel. For what purpose he had yet to
discern, but he trusted in the Force.

“Ok, I’m all clear now, Doc. So, we’re heading for the Sertar sector?”

“Yes, we stay in ze Outer Rim Territories for now. You read the navcomputer, Johannes?”

“That’s right,” John lied. He realized he had given away too much. He already knew the Sertar system
buttressed alongside the Esstran system and the Sith Worlds, but like their conversation back at the inn,
he wanted to keep his personal history to himself. Doctor Visely gave him a quizzical look.

“And when we get there, what are we looking for specifically?” John quickly added as he turned his
attention back to the copilot controls. Doctor Visely grinned a little.

“Zis is ze zing I didn’t look too closely at when I was at Elom. Ze Sith temple is located at ze base of some
mountains, and when you enter ze cave entrance, on ze left wall is a large painting of a white dragon. Ze
rumor I heard was zat Hydan was focusing on zis wall painting—zat he has a particular interest in Sith
and Jedi temple art is known—but to be honest in mein own time zhere I overlooked it, not giving it
much of mein attention, but I was wrong. I need to go back and look again. Zis is ze key I zink to finding
where Hevel’s secret lair is hidden.”

Doctor Visely turned to work the ship’s controls.

“Is there nowhere—in a holopad or datadisk—that this painting is recorded so you could just look at it
there and maybe find what you are looking for that way?”

“Well, yes and no. It’s not so easy. Here, get mein datapad from ze knapsack zhere.” John found the bag
the old doctor was pointing to, pulled out the datapad and handed it to Visely. The doctor scrolled
through some of the pictures he had stored on it and showed John the image.

What John first noticed was how massive the wall in question was. In the picture, Visely was standing off
and to the left of the frame for scale reference. He was tiny.

“That’s a big wall painting,” John commented.

57
“Yes, you see it’s about sixty or seventy feet tall. I look like a little man when I stand next to it.”

Centered on a dark-blue backdrop was a Vitruvian-style image of a humanoid white dragon standing
upright, its two leathery, mynock-like wings outstretched to each of its sides, and its humanoid arms
extending outward at forty-five-degree angles with palms up. A thin and perfect circle encompassed the
image, which was then itself framed by a thin square.

“Who is this?”

“Yes, zat is more ancient Sith images. Zis mural is of a very, very old Sith Lord named StarCrow ze Wise.
He was an old god of ze Sith from very ancient days. Many Sith from ze inter-Sith vars period
worshipped zis god. A practice zhey revived from ze holocrons of ze old Sith King Nakgru. StarCrow goes
back forty zousands years, but yes, zis is ze image I need to look at again. Just zis won’t do. Somezing is
telling me we need to go zhere.”

The ship’s console began to rapidly beep.

“Looks like we are coming to Elom now,” Visely said.

Doctor Visely’s GX120 short hauler dropped out of

hyperspace, and its cockpit window was filled with the 20
brown and purple surface of the planet.

“Arby, set a course to the following coordinates.” The

doctor punched in some longitudinal and latitudinal
numbers, and Arby rolled to the ship’s port and inserted
his cylinder.

“Come, Johannes, let us get ready while Arby lands us.”

They came to a small locker behind the cockpit where the doctor pulled out some jackets.

“Here, a parka for you. Where we are going is a cold desert. And some goggles too.”

Before long, the ship was set down at the foot of some mountains by the entrance to the temple the
doctor made mention of, and the two adventurers descended the cargo ramp to the surface below. The
Sith temple was just how John remembered it: its massive rhombus-shaped facade was hewn and
painstakingly chiseled from the mountain’s surface. A large, open, square door, which swam in dark
shadows, was flanked by four sitting Sith dragons, two at either side.

“Arby, you stay and watch ze ship. If you notice anyzing you call me, ja.” The droid whistled his
affirmation of the message.

When they stepped out on the surface, they were immediately assaulted by the biting wind. John was
glad they were only a short distance from the entrance, for although the hooded, fur-lined parka was
helpful, the sudden drop in temperature took his breath away.

The two jaunted over the dusty surface, their feet sinking slightly in the formed but not frozen, purplish-
brown hued sand. They quickly came to the black mouth of the door.

58
“Johannes, ignite your torch.” They lit their flashlights and entered. “Follow me, I am familiar with ze
vay.”

John watched as the doctor gently stepped over the heavy rocks strewn about and then he went left.
The debris was cleared, and a wide and well-constructed stone ramp descended further down the
mountain’s gut. “It is here, mein junge, almost zhere.”

As they got deeper into the cave John could detect a sickly-sweet scent of what smelled like decaying
flowers. Behind him he heard a low, rumbling growl. He quickly turned his flashlight to look behind him.

“Doctor! Did you hear that?”

“Hear what, Johannes, I hear nozing.” The doctor swung his light around to find what was disturbing the
young man.

“A growl. Something growled.” The two darted their lights about but could only see the descending
ramp and the smooth walls beside them.

“Zhere is nozing, Johannes…I heard nozing.”

“There is something here, Doctor! I can feel it! Don’t tell me I didn’t hear anything when I did!”

“Ok, Johannes, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t hear anyzing.” The two paused their
movements and didn’t make any noise. John turned his ears back to listen more closely.

“It’s gone now. Let’s keep going.”

“Maybe you want to go back to ze ship, you seem a little upset.”

“I’m not upset,” he replied. “I’m not upset,” he said again a little more calmly.

“Sith temples are full of dark magiks, mein junge, so stay close to me. It’s just a little further.”

John and the doctor moved a little closer and continued down.

We Killed Him… killed him whispered a slithery voice, a monstrous echo following the phrase.
“What did you say?” John asked angrily.

“What?” replied Visely.

“What did you just say?” John asked again, raising his voice.

“Johannes. Stop zis. I said nozing. What did you hear?” John read in Visely’s face his sincerity, his eyes
radiated concern. The young man shook his head a little.

“Nothing, Doc. I think you’re right. This place might be getting to me.”

“Come now, Johannes, everyzing is ok. We are almost zhere. You make me a bit worried zough.”

The floor evened out and the young man and the old academic came to a great semicircular room. The
ceiling towered above them in a domed concave, and John followed Doctor Visely to the left wall where

59
he knew the great painting of the white dragon lived. Doctor Visely knelt by his knapsack and pulled out
a flare. He ignited it and it burned a bright red. He produced another one from his bag.

“Johannes, take zis and go along ze walls. You will see ze torches zhere. Light zem and we will look at ze
painting. You go one way, I go ze ozher.”

John did as he was instructed, and light slowly grew through the room as the men lit the torches on the
wall. He marveled at how big the room was. It was semicircular with geometric patterns on the floor.
The sickly smell of dead flowers still hung in the air.

You belong to us… to us whispered the black voice again.

John took a deep breath and clenched his teeth, ignoring the voice.

With their flares burning brightly the two stood before the grand painting on the wall. They took off
their goggles and parkas.

“Zis is StarCrow,” said the doctor. “But, ze mural, it is as I saw it many years ago. Nozing is different.
Why would Hydan come here to look at zis again?”

“What do you make of all the…” John paused to find the proper words, “not smoke but…the hovering
mist over the entire thing. Like visible heat waves…” He reached out to touch the mist. “…only very
cold.”

“What are you talking about, Johannes. Again, now you see somezing that is not zhere. Johannes, are
you ok?”

“You have to be kidding me, Doctor, the mist…you don’t see the mist obscuring the whole thing?” John
waved his hand again and the mist wafted and disappeared. “There’s more here, I can see it.”

“Johannes…?”

“Look, I’ll show you!”

John backed about twenty feet from the wall and extended his arms with his palms out. He began to
breathe in and out and looked to find his connection to the Force. He heard a mocking laugh in the
distance, and with that derisive distraction in his mind, his connection to the Force was made. The air
around him began to reverberate and a deep and musical chord was stuck deep within him. With a great
push he threw the energy of the Force against the image of the dragon, and once he did, he heard an
audible gasp from Doctor Visely.

“Johannes! Look!”

The painting had changed. Surrounding the image of the dragon were thirteen animals, all of them with
what looked like star constellations overlaid on them. And superimposed over the stomach and torso of
StarCrow was an image of Darth Hevel herself.

“Doctor…” John whispered.

“I see.”

60
Like the image of the humanoid dragon, Darth Hevel was in the pose of the Vitruvian man.

“Zis is it. Ze map to Darth Hevel’s lair. But how did you…”

“Look, Doctor, it’s a constellation map,” John pointed. His true self was becoming more difficult to hide.

He needed to bring the attention back to the art because the doctor was staring at him, mouth slightly
agape.

“Look, this one is a voxyn,” he pointed to the first constellation. “Doc, look.”

“Ja ja.” He said meekly. The doctor broke his gaze from John and moved his eyes to the constellation the
boy pointed at.

“And the next is a maalraas.” The doctor followed along to where John was pointing.

“Ja, and the next one is a jakobeast.”

“And a vornskr, a ysalamir, an Akk, a tuk’ata, a Hssiss, a Taozin, a Jubba bird, a Loth-wolf, a starweird,
and the last one is a silan.”

61
“Johannes, get my data pad. We will take pictures. Arby needs to get here so he can record all of zis.”
The doctor reached for his wrist comm.

“Arby, lock ze ship and come down into ze cave and here to us, you need to come record what we see.”
There was only white noise as a response. “Arby, come in. You need to come here.” White noise
responded again. “Arby…” Visely looked up at John. “He’s not answering.”

Up the ramp they heard a noise, like the rolling of metal balls.

“Get behind me, Doc!” John said, “Something is coming!”

Suddenly, from out of the shadows of the ramp, a droideka rolled up on the unsuspecting adventurers.
Its tripod legs kicked out and its shields popped to life. Its blasters unfurled with a clicking, metallic
sound and it pointed its weapons menacingly at the men.

From out of the darkness stepped the Dread Pirate Xim, his own blaster drawn and his painted mask
smirking.

“Well, well, well, Doctor Visely. I’ve finally got you pinned.”

The Wolf-Cat Two was almost to Szin, the second moon of Lok, before life inside the ship began to stir.
Upon lifting off from Llanic and setting the navcomputer while the early morning sun illuminated the
cockpit, Erragal and Silvermane had both drifted off to sleep in the pilots’ chairs, while the clone crew,
used to battle-hard conditions, slept on the floor of the Old Republic ship’s cargo hold. Using their old
civilian clothes as pillows, and still clad in their blood-red armor, though helmetless, they sprawled and
curled in various positions, snoring.

Many hours later an indicator light flashed and beeped on the ship’s console waking the Togorian from
his respite. His arms crossed against his chest, his clawed and padded feet up on the corner of the
cockpit, he opened one large wolf eye and read what was going on.

“A few parsecs,” he grumbled.

Erragal, armor-clad and sitting in the copilot’s chair like an expressionless mannequin—for he kept his
helmet on as if he were a ritually-observant Mandalorian—turned his head slightly, the small movement
indicating there was a living body beneath the shell.

“An hour?” he asked.

“Less. Ye clones are snoring real good.”

“It was a long night, coming off a long shift in the disassembly plant. We probably haven’t slept in over a
day.”

“I thought ye all were supermen, not needin’ sleep or nothin,’” the Togorian’s words dripped with
condescending sarcasm.

“We are supermen, stronger than you think. Is sleeping a weakness now?” Almost imperceptibly, Erragal
entered the borders of Silvermane’s personal space. “I carefully watched you when you were sleeping,

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wolf-man. I watched your breathing, and your neck, very carefully.” Erragal kept his gaze locked on the
Togorian. The large beast snarled out a little chuckle as he lifted his feet from the console and took the
controls of the ship.

Marduk entered the cockpit to check on their journey.

“What’s our status, Captain?”

“Nearly there, Marduk. How are the men?”

“Still sleeping.”

“How did ye know ye were talkin’ to the right fella?” asked Silvermane. “Ye all wearin’ helmets and got
the same voice.”

“It’s our voices which distinguish us. We know who we are,” said Erragal.

“Disorientin’ on the battlefield I imagine.”

“Not at all,” replied Marduk.

“Ye all look the same too, same armor. Same faces. The battles must’a been intense.”

“They were,” answered Erragal. “But we were bred for war. War endures, so we endure.” The grizzled
veteran paused a moment before he continued, “War was always here. It waited for us. The ultimate
trade awaiting us, its ultimate practitioners.”

Silvermane rumbled out a low laugh.

“What’s so funny wolf-man?” asked Marduk.

“You clones, that’s what—talkin’ all philosophical-like about war. There’s nothin’ high minded about it.
It’s war, that’s all, blood and guts and killin’. We Togorians are good at it too, in case ye didn’t know.
Maybe even better practitioners than yerselves.”

Erragal and Marduk didn’t respond. They gave each other an expressionless look through their masked
faces, as if to say, don’t take the bait, let him spout. A few minutes of empty silence fell.

“Anyway, I’ve been wonderin’ this for a while—and I was always wantin’ to ask a clone: how did ye all
manage to take down the Jedi Knights? Me and Xim know from personal experience Jedi be no
pushovers.”

Sargon appeared at the cockpit’s doorway just behind Marduk.

“We were allies with the Jedi before we killed them,” the newcomer to the conversation tossed his
thoughts into the room. Erragal watched as Sargon entered the conversation, then swung his back in the
copilot's chair and focused on the ship’s controls.

“We fought alongside the Jedi Knights for many years in many theaters: Armaugh, Seretti, Dashara,
Umbara, Viridis. They were gods on the battlefield.”

“But even gods can be killed,” said Erragal, his back to his brothers.

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Silvermane laughed, “I like you, Capt'n Erragal! A man after me own heart!”

The rest of the men began to stir in the back.

“Autopilot set to Szin,” Silvermane called. The giant Togorian got up from the captain’s chair, pushed
past Sargon and Marduk, and made his way to the cargo hold. “Get up, ye lazy bones!” he yelled. He
kicked a few of the clones in the feet as he entered. “Get up! Enough of yer loafin’”

“What gives?” grumbled Martu.

“Wolf-man on deck,” said Ky as he slowly got up.

“At attention, men, we’re almost at our destination,” said Erragal as he entered the cargo hold behind
Silvermane. The clones picked themselves up off the floor and sat themselves on the benches that ran
along both sides of the hold.

“What’s our status, Captain?” asked Dagon as he yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“A few parsecs, Dag. Almost there.”

Silvermane dropped himself in a dusty, torn-up, plaid covered armchair, which was secured to the cargo
hold’s floor. It sat forlornly in the corner of the hold, its clawed wooden feet scratched at the bottom
where the wood stain and varnish had come off. It’s placement in the cargo hold was an anomaly among
the metal walls and utilitarian atmosphere.

“I think Silvermane wants some war stories, boys,” Erragal said. “Was asking about our time with the
Jedi.”

Silvermane rhythmically drummed his foot claws on the metal floor as he watched his hired soldiers of
fortune. He started in with his own memories.

“Xim and I once tangled with a Jedi. We were raidin’ a luxury cruiser, and outta nowhere this Jedi comes
swinging her laser sword. It was all we could to fight her off. I had heard stories, but it was the first time
I ever laid eyes on one. At first, I couldn’t even get close, she kept throwin’ me around with some sorta’
magic. But Xim’s warbots eventually overwhelmed her enough that he managed to pot-shot her with his
sonic blaster—her Jedi sword no good ‘gainst a sound bullet. But still, it slowed her down just a little. It
was enough fer me to get close, and I managed to get me hands around her throat, and then Xim told
her to drop her sword or else he’d turn the bots on the room. That got her attention. We got outta there
with a nice haul. I still think the two of us and the warbots coulda’ took her, but by the King of the
Liphons, she put up a scrap.”

“That sounds about right,” said Gibil. “We watched General Hawkins do a lot of that. We would be
lighting up a contingent of clankers when suddenly Hawk would uproot a massive tree or lift a huge
boulder and toss it at them, crushing the lot.”

“Remember the last battle,” broke in Sargon, “when Hawk tossed them over the cliff’s edge. They just
dropped and exploded.”

“Right before those faithless wizards betrayed the Empire, you mean?” asked Marduk.

The group went silent. Silvermane started to laugh.

64
“That clammed them up real good,” the Togorian said. “So, I want to know what happened next. How
did all ye wee soldier men manage to take down the god-like wizards, as ye say?”

“We all got the same call—all of us clones—on a secure emergency channel only Chancellor Palpatine
had access to. He said, ‘execute order 66’, and we all knew what that meant. The Jedi had betrayed the
Empire…” explained Erragal.

“Republic,” shot Sargon.

“Republic, Empire, whatever,” retorted Erragal. “They betrayed us. They betrayed the Chancellor. They
betrayed everything. So, we ambushed them. Took ‘em down.”

“Ahhh….” Silvermane started to laugh, “a good ol’-fashioned bushwhack.” He laughed and slapped his
knee. “A bit cowardly if I may say, but it gets the job done.”

“Cowardly!?” yelled Ky.

“What I can’t figure,” started Silvermane, ignoring Ky’s interjection, “is why ye all were made in the first
place. Human soldiers is just an inferior way of doin’ things. Ye all be too small and break too easily.”

“What did he just say?” asked Martu.

“He just called us inferior,” replied Gibil.

“And said we break easily…” repeated Marduk.

“I think it’s time we showed him how fragile we are.” Dagon got up, but Erragal grabbed his shoulder
and pushed him back down on the bench. Silvermane smiled and laughed a little more.

“Don’t take no offense, boys. Just statin’ facts. Why the Republic didn’t clone us Togorians is beyond
me.”

“Maybe they knew what they were doing,” said Marduk.

“Doubtful,” the Togorian snarled. He continued, “Xim and I have sailed from one side of this galaxy to
the next, and we hear lots o’things, the chittering back-noise of the galaxy as it were, and I was
wonderin’… is it true ye all be clones o’th’ Mandalorian Jango Fett?”

“It’s true,” answered Erragal.

“Well. Then that be a true tale then,” Silvermane nodded to himself. “Had a fierce reputation Jango did.
Still, hundreds of thousands of Jango Fetts and thousands of Jedi, and it still took ye years to beat a
bunch o’ machines. Embarrassing really. Now, what they shoulda done was cloned the Margrave of
Togoria—the fiercest warrior of the galaxy, then the war woulda been over in weeks. We Togorians are
superior to you humans in every way—physically, intellectually, culturally.”

“You can’t be serious,” cut in Martu. He jumped up and started jabbing his finger at the Togorian. “You
Togorians are nothing but a bunch of stone throwing savages, your culture is primitive, and you owe
everything that is good in life to the humans of the galaxy.” Dagon and Gibil held him back a little.
“You’re nothing but fur and trash! Go shake some sticks at your gods!”

65
Silvermane leaped from his armchair and made for Martu. The rest of the clones jumped up as well, but
Erragal, quick on the draw, placed two sharp shots just past Silvermane’s snout. The sizzling lasers
buried themselves into the cargo hold’s hatch.

“That’s it!” he shouted, “I’ve had enough of your goading wolf-man. What did you hire us for if you were
just going to provoke us for the entirety of the job, eh?” Erragal pointed his blaster at Silvermane’s
chest.

“You want us to mutiny with you against Xim or not?!”

“That’s what I hired ye for!”

“Then enough of this sithspit! Let’s get the treasure, mutiny, then you’ll get what you want, we’ll get
what we want, and we’ll all be on our way. What’s so hard about that?”

“All right, fair play, Capt'n Erragal, put yer blaster away.” He looked at the clones. “It’s all good, boys.
We’re just havin’ a conversation is all. No need to get all hot and bothered.”

Silvermane put his palms up and shouldered aggressively through the clones gathered around him. He
began to strut back to the cockpit where more flashing lights and sounds waited for his attention.

“What’s that guy’s issue?” asked Gibil.

“Nothing,” replied Erragal. “He’s a Togorian,” he scoffed as he holstered his blaster.

Silvermane sat in the pilot’s seat and took hold of the ship’s controls, he flipped the flashing holocomm
switch and was greeted by the blue holo-image of the Dread Pirate Xim.

“Silvermane, we’ve got trouble.”

Xim regained consciousness just in time to look up and see Doctor Visely’s ship lift off into the
atmosphere. While on his back he reached for his wrist comm.

“Twazzi,” he said groggily, “report.”

“You missed your quarry, and your time is up. I’ve left Llanic.”

“The consummate professional.”

“Get good. Don’t contact me for a while. I’m on another hunt.”

Xim spied further into the sky where the little white light that was Doctor Visely’s ship finally
disappeared. He activated his wrist comm again.

“Warbots, prepare the Wolf-Cat for takeoff.”

“Yes, Lord Xim,” came back the robotic reply.

He pulled himself up off the dirt and began the long walk back to Oztek City. Eventually coming to the
mining town, he made his way under the large, stone archway on Sixth Line Road, trailing behind a

66
wooden caravan being pulled by a bantha. Sitting atop a platform and reigning in the smelly beast were
some dusty-robed Rodian travelers.

Townsfolk stared as Xim sauntered through the sooty streets making his way to the starport, his archaic
sword and black Mandalorian armor with its smiling face a rare sight in the backwater town.

The engines of the Wolf-Cat were ignited and burning blue flames when he finally entered the docking
bay. Standing by the lowered ramp were his loyal droids, two BX commandos called Bel and Del, along
with his modified droideka that was armed with improved shield generators and Geonosian sound
blasters.

“Welcome, Lord Xim” said the commando droids in unison. They both saluted him as he walked up the
ramp. Xim patted his droideka on the head as he went up. The droids followed him inside.

“Astromech,” he called as he punched buttons on his wrist holocomm, “set the navcomputer to track
the following signal.” The R-unit whistled acknowledgment of the pirate’s commands.

Xim took control of the ship’s panels and lifted the Wolf-Cat out of the docking bay and into space.

“Let’s see where we’re going, Doctor,” he mumbled softly. The ship’s small viewscreen navcomputer
came to life with a pixelated animation, presenting the tracking device’s trajectory and hyperspace
route.

“Elom? Very interesting, Doctor. It looks like you’re one step behind me, and I hazard that you are also
missing an important puzzle piece. But let’s continue the dance. You’ll eventually realize we’re on the
same team. Set the navcomputer.”

Xim pulled the hyperdrive throttle back, and in an instant the Wolf-Cat One was tunneling through the
blue burrow of lightspeed. He powered down his droids and decided to grab as many hours of rest he
could before the ship’s comms would ping to let him know he had arrived.

Hours later they did just that. The astromech scrawled a message across the shuttle’s viewscreen: Lord
Xim, we have arrived at Elom.

The dusty purplish-brown planet rapidly filled the shuttle’s cockpit window as Xim came out of
hyperspace. “I’m picking up a signal on the surface. Astromech, is it Visely’s shuttle?” The little droid
whistled in the affirmative. “Quickly, jam its signals and set us down next to it.”

“To Elom we go again, eh, droid?” Xim called to his commando droid.

“Affirmative, Lord Xim”

“Astromech, set us down next to Visely’s shuttle. Droideka, you’re with me. Commandos, you stay put.”

“Yes, Lord Xim.”

The Dread Pirate Xim descended his shuttle’s ramp, and as it had the adventurers hours before him, the
biting cold of Elom rushed to greet him. He spied Doctor Visely’s tracks and another set of footprints
heading toward the temple’s entrance through his Mandalorian helmet’s heads-up display.

“So, we are not alone, Doctor.”

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The Sith temple of Elom was a site Xim had been to a few times now, the towering sitting Sith deities,
always watching, now a familiar sight to him. Its grand entrance framed by five gigantic pillars held no
door, simply a square, shadowy cavern that threatened to devour all who entered.

“Droideka, turn on your lights. We shall slowly make our way down the temple ramp. Keep your sensors
tuned for life-forms. Rotate out your sonic blasters and arm yourself with the stun pistol. Be ready.”

They entered the shadow of the Sith temple and cautiously followed the wide and well-constructed
stone ramp that descended further down the mountain’s gut. Slowly and quietly, Xim made his way
further down, until he saw a soft glow emanating from the towering antechamber. He heard voices
conversing.

“…and the last one, a silan.”

He gave his droideka a hand signal, and quickly the droid rolled into a ball and turned upon the
unsuspecting adventurers. He followed closely behind with his own blaster drawn.

“Well, well, well, Doctor Visely. I’ve finally got you pinned.”

“Xim!” yelped Doctor Visely. “You found us!”

“Indeed,” confirmed Xim.

John pushed Doctor Visely behind him and stepped between the old man and Xim’s droid.

“Stay back!” commanded John.

Xim ignored the order and continued, “You’ve made your way back to the mural of StarCrow I see.
Following the clues.”

“Indeed,” replied Visely.

Xim looked at the mural and could see the constellations circling the white dragon had been exposed,
and that the image of Darth Hevel superimposed upon the dragon’s body had been revealed.

“But how did you manage…?” Quickly turning his attention to the young man guarding Doctor Visely,
Xim commanded his droid.

“Shoot the boy! Now!”

Circular blue stun blasts barreled out of the droideka blasters. John tried to leap out of the way, but a
flurry of stun bolts also flew from Xim’s pistol and landed solidly on the young man’s chest, some from
the droid and some from the Dread Pirate himself.

“No! Johannes!” John lay sprawled upon the floor and Doctor Visely ran to him. “Why did you do zat?!
He’s just a junge helping me!”

“I’m not so sure of that, Doctor.”

“You know nozing, you…you…dirty pirate! Why do you chase me? Johannes, Johannes, mein junge,
wake up,” Doctor Visely said, gently slapping John’s face.

“He’ll be out for a while, Doctor. Get a hold of yourself, man. The boy will be fine. We have work to do.”

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“Work! You shoot ze boy and you speak of work! You are an evil man, you killed females and younglings.
I know zees zings.”

Xim watched as Doctor Visely knelt by John and feebly tried to wake him. Xim didn’t respond to his
accusation. He holstered his blaster and gave the signal for the droideka to stand down. Xim watched as
Doctor Visely tenderly touched the young man’s face and checked his vital signs, touching his wrist and
keeping time. Visely’s charge hung in the air for many silent moments.

“Yeah,” Xim began, “I’ve killed females and younglings, it’s true. But that was a long time ago.” He
paused again. “People change. I’ve changed. I’m not the same man I was then.”

“You admit to being a cold-blooded killer, zen. Why should I work with you, eh?”

“I believe you, Doctor.”

“What? What do you mean you believe me?”

“I believe your hypothesis—that Hevel found Xim the Despot’s treasure, which was on the Queen of
Ranroon; and took it for herself.”

Visley looked up at the pirate, stunned. No one had ever said they believed him. Not his Archaeology
department at the university, not the History department, not even the Jedi historians he worked with
at the Temple. Back at the University he knew he was simply tolerated as a campus eccentric, his books
going largely ignored by his faculty colleagues, his historical theorems only gaining traction in the weird
and conspiracy theory riddled corners of the HoloNet.

“What? You believe me?”

“Yes, your hypothesis makes sense. But you only have one half of the last missing puzzle piece, the first
half of Penweld’s journal, which does not contain the most important piece of information.” Xim
stepped cautiously toward Doctor Visely, and alongside the old man, he knelt by John’s body. The pirate
reached out and felt for a pulse on his neck. “He’s ok, Doctor,” he said softly. Doctor Visely studied the
crafted visage of the Dread Pirate as he continued.

“Footnote one hundred twenty-seven from your thesis mentions she was familiar with the works of
Darth Ecem and Darth Ashef. As you know she was an explorer from 650 ASC, but her journal is
incomplete.”

“Yes,” said Visely, “some pages were torn out.”

“That’s right, and I have them.”

Visely stared at Xim, mouth agape.

“And the torn pages make mention of the voxyn constellation, which is right there.” Xim pointed at the
fresco. “I believe this constellation is the first step on the road to Hevel’s lair. There is no other
constellation like it in the known galaxy, and it lies in Wild Space. I believe it’s the first step on the road
to the treasure.”

Xim’s gentle concern for the boy’s condition gave Visely pause.

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“You believe me?” Doctor Visely mumbled again. “But Skynx says you are a killer zough…”

“Skynx?! That bug? If he is wrong about the Queen of Ranroon, which we both believe him to be, isn’t it
possible he could also be wrong about me? Listen, I’ve changed, Doctor Visely. Like I said, I’m not the
same man I once was.”

“I…I…I’m not so sure anymore…” Visely responded doubtfully. But his anger rose again. “Why did you
shoot ze poor junge, he is only an innkeeper’s boy.”

“Doctor, give me a chance. Let’s work on this mystery together. Plus, there is more to this boy than I
think you realize. How did you reveal the constellation map and the image of Hevel?”

Visely’s eyes searched his memory for what had happened a few minutes ago. “Ze boy, he said somezing
about a cold mist, like heat waves, obscuring and hovering over ze mural. Zen he somehow pushed it all
away and everyzing became clear.”

“Look, Doctor, follow me.” Xim got up from the prostrate boy’s side and made his way to the very corner
of the mural. He unsheathed his Sith sword from its scabbard and held the blade and inch from the
painting.

“Remarkable. What is going on here?”

“You see the mist now, Doctor?”

“I do,” Doctor Visely wafted his hands through the mist.

“It’s cold, like ze boy said. But why can I see it and feel it now? What is zat you have zhere?”

“It’s an ancient Sith sword, Doctor, the sword of Darth Hevel herself.”

“Oh, my goodness. Zis is remarkable, Xim. All zis time the painting was covered with Sith magik?”

“Indeed. The smoke of Hevel obscures. It is physical, like smoke, but can’t be grasped. It hides light, like
the Dark Lord herself.”

“Everyzing makes sense now. Hydan must have figured out somezing, zat is why he came back here.
Maybe he heard you had come back here, so he came after you. I wonder if he found ze constellation
map? But wait! How did ze boy see it?”

“That’s a good question, Doctor.” They both turned and looked at John, still laying on the ground.

“Doctor, come with me. Let’s go find the treasure of Darth Hevel, together.” Visely looked away and
gave a little grunt.

“Skynx would say ze treasure of Xim ze Despot,” Visely grinned a little.

“But he’d be wrong. We both know it belongs to Hevel now, and soon, to us,” said Xim. Visely’s cheeky
grin grew to a full smile, but then it slowly disappeared.

“I’m taking an awful risk in trusting you, Xim. How do I know you won’t harm me and ze boy?”

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“Doctor, please. I already have everything I need to head out on this quest. It was your work that got me
onto the Darth Hevel bantha-wagon in the first place. I want to see you and your work vindicated.
And…” continued the pirate, “if we’re right, there is enough treasure to go around.”

Doctor Visely looked around the massive and glowing antechamber and stared intensely at the fresco of
StarCrow the Wise.

After a long moment’s pause, he replied, “Ok, Xim, I will work with you. Let’s go find ze treasure.”

“Excellent, Doctor. Let’s get out of here and get to my ship.”

Xim walked over to John’s body and slung the young man over his shoulder. They made their way out of
the temple and back up the ramp. When they got to the Wolf-Cat One they were greeted again by Xim’s
commando droids, and Doctor Visely transferred all his belongings from his shuttle to Xim’s, along with
his whistling astromech, Arby.

“When zis is over we will come back for my shuttle, ja?”

“Of course, Doctor. Lay the boy down in the storage closet and strap yourself into the copilot’s chair.”

The pirate and the doctor secured themselves and were about to take off when Xim’s holocomms
beeped urgently. Xim flipped the switch and a holograph of a scruffy and disheveled looking man began
to shout with urgency.

“Lord Xim, Lord Xim! Nym! Nym!”

“What’s going on, George?! Be clear man!”

“Nym is here! He’s breaking into the Fairwind! He’s disabled….” the holograph fizzled out.

“What is going on, Xim?”

“We’ve got company back at the Fairwind. I suspect I know what’s happening.” Xim turned his
holocomm back on and punched in some numbers. A large Togorian answered on the other end.

“Silvermane, we’ve got trouble.”

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 Chapter 5

The Battle for the Fairwind

Brogar’s Port was a small outpost located on Szin, the second moon of Lok. It was founded in the years
leading up to the Clone Wars by Prodo Brogar as a response to the despotic rule of Nym and his Lok
Revenant. Brogar was a master mechanic and engineer, and over time his port became respected by the
spacers of the galaxy as a site of neutrality. Most hunters, mercs, and smugglers, from whichever side of
whatever conflict was raging at the time, preferred landing on Szin because they understood that
heading into Lok for repairs or business was equivalent to entering a fickle king’s kingdom. Nym was a
warlord, and one never knew if heading into Kimogila Town would result in getting one’s head kicked in
or a round of drinks from the Feeorin. Szin was just far enough away from Lok that it could be ignored by
the warlord, but close enough to have all the advantages of its strategic location along nefarious
hyperspace lanes.
Silvermane and his clone crew sat in Szin’s orbit waiting for Xim to arrive, and in a flash the Wolf-Cat
One blinked out of hyperspace and sidled next to its sister ship. Xim’s comms flashed.
“Greetin’s, Capt’n,” Silvermane’s holograph floated above Xim’s comms.
“Silvermane,” Xim acknowledged. “Are the new crew ready to go? We’re going to have to break some
faces to get our ship back.”
“We’re ready, Capt’n. What’s the plan?”
“We’ll head down hot, sticking together. The starport lies on the east side of Brogar’s port, and the
Fairwind is dry-docked on the outside wall. We’ll head in low from the east. Do your best to set the
Wolf-Cat as close to the Fairwind as possible. I’m not sure if Nym knows we know it’s him. I think George
got the message out to me with Nym none the wiser.”
“Aye, Capt’n, you take the vanguard, and we’ll have yer back.”
“Reroute power to your engines. Lay down as much cover fire as possible. Assume everybody is
unfriendly. If it moves, shoot it.”
Silvermane laughed. “That’s the Xim I know!” he roared.
The pair of sister ships’ engines flared white hot in unison and the two transports barreled toward the
planet’s surface. They cut through the atmosphere and headed low to the planet’s dusty plane and
began their trench-like approach to Brogan’s Port. As they quickly approached, Xim could see his
beloved galleon shining regally in the distance, her tall masts reaching to the sky and her golden trim
reflecting the light of the system’s sun. Lady Unicorn, the Fairwind’s figurehead, waited expectantly for
her captain to come home.
As the majestic Fairwind grew over the horizon, a large blue orb exploded out from the ship.
“What was that?!” asked Silvermane.
“An ion bomb. He took out the droids.”
A piercing beep began to resonate through Xim’s cockpit. “Doctor Visely, quick!” Xim yelled. “The
coupler for the shields has come loose. Open the circuit panel behind the cockpit door and reattach the
wire to the port!”

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“Yes, Captain!” shouted Doctor Visely. He unbuckled his harness and made his way to the circuit board.
“Capt’n, scanners pickin’ up two life-forms on the path of our approach,” roared Silvermane’s voice over
the comms.
“All guns open fire,” commanded the pirate. But before Erragal, who was sitting in the gunner’s top
turret, could squeeze off a volley of laser fire, the life-forms the scanners detected saw the approaching
ships. Nym’s pirate pair popped out from behind some rocky outcroppings and launched their shoulder
cannons. The missiles whizzed out of the pirates’ launchers, trailing lines of whirling white smoke.
Silvermane’s Wolf-Cat Two pulled up and managed to evade the missile which sailed past its keel,
skinning as close as a nuna’s eyelash, but Xim wasn’t so quick, and one of the missiles pounded into his
ship’s hull, doing all it could to land a knockout punch. The impact reverberated through the ship and
Doctor Visely was tossed about, impacting the ceiling with ferocious force and landing hard against the
floor. Smoke and fire billowed over the hull.
“Capt’n!?” hollard Silvermane over the comms.
“Shields held!” answered Xim. “Open fire!”
Erragal tracked the two life-forms and squeezed the trigger. The ship zipped by before he could get a
closer look, but he was confident he had hit his marks.
Xim’s open-hail comms lit up as he and Silvermane continued their trench run to the landing site. Xim
flipped his incoming messages on and Nym’s holograph popped to life over his console.
“They don’t make ‘em like they used to, eh, Xim?” started the Feeorin.
“How’s that?” replied the Dread Pirate.
“Your Old Republic transports. I’m surprised you survived a direct hit. I thought maybe I could obliterate
you and pick through the debris for the sword.”
“How the peripherally-famous have fallen. So, you’re working for Grakkus?”
“You’re a minor job.”
“You disgust me, Nym. Working for a Hutt? That’s pathetic.”
“Credits are credits and Grakkus is paying a chancellor’s ransom to get his sword back. He wants it back
in his little Jedi collection. Meet me on the deck of the Fairwind where you’ll give it to me, and I’ll be on
my way. Let’s not make a mess of this.”
“Why don’t I just blast you where you stand?”
“Because I’m holding a detonator and your beloved Fairwind is laced with rydonium, so...” He shrugged
his shoulders. “You pull a trigger; I press a button. It’ll be a simple exchange: the sword for the
detonator.”
Xim cut off the holocomm. He flipped his comms back to Silvermane and activated his wrist comm,
attempting to get George back on, but the engineer’s indicator light did not ignite.
“Silvermane, did you get all that?”
“Aye, Capt’n.”

73
“Let’s take the ships around for a quick survey and see where Nym and his men are arrayed. Land the
ship off in the distance, we don’t need to take any more hits from their launchers. I’ve got an open
channel to George, but he either can’t message us, or hear us, or both. Nym’s ion bomb certainly took
out all electronic controls, but I have a suspicion he’s not accounted for our engineer. I’m sure he and
Finnbarr initiated boarding protocol and will have comms up and running soon. They’re probably hiding
in the smuggling tunnels.”
“Bringing the ship ‘round, Capt’n”
The two ships circled past Brogar’s Port, surveying the site. The port was protected by high walls with
landing platforms on the outside for large capital ships to dock, where the Fairwind currently stood
alone. Inside the walls was a large engineering bay. There was a small village surrounding the outside of
the ramparts where businesses and modest homes grew out from Brogar’s success.
Nym was atop the Fairwind, standing by the stern, watching the ships circle. He cast a short shadow in
the noon-day sun. His pirate band was positioned by the entrance to Brogar’s Port and along the hull of
the Fairwind, variously arrayed by large crates. Xim called to Doctor Visely’s astromech.
“Arby, take control and hover the Wolf-Cat over the deck of the Fairwind and then lower the cargo
ramp. When I disembark, follow Silvermane’s lead and land the ship next to the Wolf-Cat Two. Bel and
Del, once Arby lands, go with droideka and provide cover fire for Silvermane and his crew.”
Silvermane’s Wolf-Cat sped off and landed on the far side of the village for cover. Arby took Xim’s ship
and hovered it over the deck of the Fairwind then lowered the ramp. A rush of wind filled the open
space. Xim hurried to the back of his transport and quickly examined Doctor Visley, who was sprawled
out on the cargo bay floor, on his way past. He was bleeding from his forehead and knocked out cold.
“Doctor, once we wrap up this nonsense I’ll come and tend to you.” He quickly checked the storage
closet and saw John was still unconscious.
Xim headed down the lowered ramp and hopped the distance onto the deck of his golden galleon, his
red and tattered cape flapping in the wind.
Nym, the Feeorin pirate from Lok, stood waiting for Xim, his back to the door of the captain’s quarters.
Standing nearly seven feet tall, his blue-green skin glistened with sweat, his shoulders and arm muscles
large and defined. He’d lost his left hand in battle years ago, and he was now permanently armed with a
cybernetic hand-cannon. His adorned head tendrils hung past his shoulders, and his nose-less reptilian
face sported a fierce and intense look. His red eyes followed Xim’s every move.
Xim slowly crossed the deck to close some of the space between himself and Nym.
“You know what I hate most about you, Nym?”
“What’s that, Xim?”
“Your name. Everyone knows you stole my name. Nym? Seriously? You’re riding my reputation.”
“I’m not here to talk about names or reputations. Give me the sword, you’ll get the detonator here, and
we’ll go on our ways.” Xim slowly shook his head to the contrary.
“We both know you’re not here for a simple retrieval job. You’re here to kill me. Nym of Lok is no joke,
even I know that. How much is Grakkus’s bounty?”

74
Nym grinned a little. “I’m glad my reputation precedes me,” he bowed in a theatrical manner. “The Hutt
is paying one hundred thousand credits for the sword, five hundred thousand credits for your head. You
didn’t really think you’d get away with what you did, did you?” Nym made a small move to circle right
and away from the captain’s quarters, but Xim moved left to keep him pinned against the door.
“I already did. I got the sword and marooned that fat beast on some backwater moon. I should have
killed him, but there were a lot of moving parts that day. I thought stranding the slug would be enough
to let him know the Dread Pirate Xim is not to be trifled with.”
“Six hundred thousand credits says otherwise.”
“Come now, Nym, you’re not one to work with Hutts. How did Grakkus manage to get you to
cooperate?”
“Times are tough. The Empire has limited my options. But the stars aligned with this job; multiple
mynock killed with one shot. The Hutt’s credits can secure my hold in this part of the system. I can
destroy this nuisance of a port by blowing up your ship. And I can get rid of you. There can only be one
feared pirate of the galaxy, and you're cutting into my bottom line. I’m here to punch your ticket. It’s all
win-win.”
Xim nodded a little. “A lot riding on the next few minutes.”
“For you, not me.”
Off in the distance, blaster fire echoed and large explosions rang out. The shouting of men barking
commands filled the air
“Silvermane?” asked Nym.
“Your men are done.”
“Hardly. I’ll offer him a job once I’ve killed you. He won’t hesitate. He’s not as loyal as you think.”
The wind picked up and dust flew between the two pirates. Each man was framed by a tall mast in the
distance. The polished wroshyr deck of the Fairwind glistened and reflected the light of the high-noon
sun.
“This is your last chance, Nym. You and I have had no trouble these last few decades. I know you’re not
sympathetic to the Empire, and you hate the slavers as much as I do. You can walk away from this with
everything intact.”
“I think you overestimate your chances.”
“Shame,” Xim slowly shook his head. “Nice hand-cannon. New tech?”
Nym lifted his cybernetic hand and examined it. “Backtoid outdid themselves with this one.” A large
blade pounced from Nym’s metal appendage, and the barrel of his hand-cannon began to hum and glow
to life. With sharp reflexes, he pointed it at Xim and fired off two shots. Xim tried to dodge, but the
blasts landed squarely on his chest and he stumbled back. Quickly regaining his footing, Xim pulled his
own blaster and landed two shots squarely on Nym’s chest. The blaster bolts dissipated. The two
combatants remained standing, their respective weapons wisping white smoke.
“Beskar,” said Xim, tapping his chest.
“Personal shield generator,” said Nym, pointing to a metal contraption on his belt.

75
“I guess we do this the old-fashioned way.” The Dread Pirate pulled his sword from its scabbard, the
ancient Sith blade singing a sharp song as it came to life. The two men stepped closer to each other.

Arby followed Xim’s commands and set the Wolf-Cat One next to the Wolf-Cat Two on the far side of the
village. Silvermane’s voice echoed through the ship’s comms.
“Bel and Del, bring the droideka, come to my ship and wait by the ramp.”
Silvermane, Erragal, and the clone crew stood in the darkness of the cargo hold waiting for the ramp to
lower. Holding his TL-50 heavy blaster rifle, the massive Togorian bounced on his feet in anticipation of
the coming firefight, his
chops dripping saliva. A
grinding metal creak
echoed through the bay as
the ramp’s pistons
extended, and light
flooded the darkened
room through the
gradually increasing
opening. Dutifully
standing on the sides of
the lowering ramp were
Bel and Del, and ready to
roll into the fray with
them was the droideka.
Silvermane barked battle
commands. “Bel and Del
will take the vanguard.
The droideka will roll in
front of them and start
firing. Sargon, Dagon, and Martu, yer with me and we flank left. Erragal, Marduk, Ky, and Gibil, ye all
flank right.”
Nym’s pirates had already taken positions behind supply crates in front of the Fairwind and along
Brogar’s Port’s walls.
Behind Silvermane, multiple high-pitched power up noises paired with the cocking of blasters, all played
in synchronous unison. The seven clones of the 276th battalion powered up the heads-up displays of
their composite armor and their masked facades glowed a soft blue.
The ramp hit the floor with a clang and Bel, Del and the Droideka made their way through the village’s
small, dusty streets running into the pirate’s front lines and opening fire. The droideka rolled into the
center of their midst, powered up his shield, dropped to his tripod haunches, and began to rattle off
heavy doses of laser fire. Silvermane, following closely behind the droids and leading the clone crew into
the fight, let loose a piercing howl while he bombarded Nym’s pirate band with large concussion blasts
from his heavy blaster rifle.

76
The clones of the 276th battalion were at home, their muscle memory leading their movements. Each
one knew through instinct and experience where on the battlefield his brothers stood, where to take an
effective firing position, and where to lob a grenade, the violent and chaotic memories of war flooding
their synapses.
“Fire at will!” commanded Erragal. “Pick your targets!” he bellowed.
“Watch your left!” yelled Marduk.
Laser fire spat from the combatants’ blasters, filling the air with acrid smells and kicking dust and sand
into everyone’s field of vision.
Though the clones were grizzled veterans, Nym’s crew, who numbered in the thirties, were hard men
themselves, landing shots on the clone’s bodies and doing their best to counter the wily warfare
movements of the blood-red warriors engaging them. But just as Charlie had promised, the clone’s
composite armor held-up to the pounding of the pirates’ returned laser fire, and the clones, confident in
their equipment, pressed hard with audacious nerve.
Within moments of the opening salvo, the two teams had flanked Nym’s band. Erragal quickly popped
up from behind one of the crates where he had crashed for cover and watched as Silvermane pounced
into a group of four pirates, using his claws and feet to rip and tear, while Dagon layed down a wall of
cover fire. The sight of gore was almost unnerving for the Clone Wars vet, as he watched the massive
Togorian rip off limbs and tear out throats, blood splattering on Brogan’s Port’s walls.
Erragal’s momentary glance at Silvermane was rewarded with a volley of laser blots that flew past his
head.
“I’ve got two on my right!”
“On it, Captain!” responded Marduk. Ky and Gibil responded with their own torrent of return fire and
pushed the pirate’s front line. Marduk and Erragal joined them, and the four veterans overran the
pirates’ positions and began to shoot at point blank range, Nym’s band catching blaster bolts in their
heads and chests and quickly folding.
The two teams met by the port’s entrance where a small rabble of pirates were firing from the
engineering bay. For a moment Erragal hazarded a glance back at the parked Wolf-Cats just beyond the
village’s boundary, and there he saw, coming down the ramp of Wolf-Cat Two, two figures obscured by
swirling dust, one carrying the other in his arms. The silhouette of the moving figure cast an uneasy spell
of dread for the Clones Wars veteran. He turned to the blood spattered Togorian.
“Silvermane, there’s someone leaving Xim’s Wolf-Cat.” Silvermane looked back.
“That might be the doctor Xim was chasin’. Dagon, you and the droids come with me and we’ll clean out
what’s remainin’ o’ Nym’s lot. Erragal, ye take yer men and make sure they don’t get far. The Capt’n
needs that doctor for our voyage. Don’t kill, just capture ‘em.”

A dark blur greeted John as he awoke. He slowly got to his feet and stumbled his way out of the supply
closet where he was stashed, the door whooshing as it opened. Rubbing and attempting to focus his
eyes, he looked to the floor and discovered Doctor Visely’s sprawled out body. John knelt by him and

77
examined his forehead. “Oh, Doctor, what did that dirty pirate do to you?” A large gash cut across the
doctor’s brow. John used his apron to wipe away the blood.
“We need to get out of here.” Arby whistled from the cockpit and appeared at the door.
“Arby! Quick, power up the ship.” John jumped from Doctor Visely’s side and slid into the pilot’s seat.
He grabbed the controls. Arby whistled again.
“Locked? Why are the controls locked?” Arby’s script scrolled across the terminal.
“Visely and Xim are working together now? Not likely.” The R-unit beeped and whooped again, rocking
back and forth.
“Your wires are crossed Arby, start the ship, the doctor and I are getting out of here.” The control panel
remained locked and Arby whistled more urgently.
“I’m not kidding, Arby; we need to get out of here. Start the ship.” The little astromech rolled to the port
and inserted his cylinder. “That’s more like it.” After a few twists of his tool, the ship lost power
completely. John smashed his fist on the dashboard. “You’re impossible! Droids!” John spied Doctor
Visely’s rucksack tucked under the copilot’s seat. He quickly grabbed the bag, went back to Doctor
Visely, and gently slipped one arm under his knees and the other around his back. “Have it your way; the
doctor and I are getting out of here.”
Gently cradling the doctor, he made his way down the ramp and headed for the dusty village just ahead.
“We’re getting out of here, Doc, I got you.”
Moving as fast as he could, John made for the sooty streets of Brogar’s Port, turning left and right down
the narrow laneways. The village was typical of most outposts found in the outer rim: small, square,
sandstone huts with wooden logs poking out the top, metal doors and transparisteel windows. He saw
in the distance the engineering bay that lay at the village’s center and began to make his way there, the
laundry of the port’s residents flapping in the wind overhead as he hurried across the street.
Blaster fire and concussion blasts echoed from the direction of the engineering bay. John, breathing
heavily, huffed out to his unconscious friend, “This place is seeing some action. It’ll provide us some
distraction for cover. We’ll commandeer another transport, Doc, and we’ll continue our adventure.”
As John made his way down a narrow thoroughfare framed by tall walls on either side, a wave of
goosebumps undulated over his back and neck, burrowing down into his skin. He anxiously glanced
behind him at the alley entrance, expecting to find someone following him, but there was no one there.
Yet, when he turned to look forward again, two figures blocked his path. He stopped short, still cradling
Doctor Visely. John took a moment to examine the figures who stood blocking his way, they themselves
were enveloped by the wall’s shadow.
“Imperial guardsmen?” he asked, almost to himself. Though the figures stood in dimness, John could see
their red armor. The figures did not respond, but the two looked at each other with almost
imperceptible movements of shock, and instinctively took a step back.
“I have no trouble with the Empire,” started John. “My friend and I have nothing to do with all that
shooting over there, we just want to leave.” He looked behind him again for his escape and three more
red-armored figures appeared, blocking his path out. A sixth figure came around the corner ahead of
him to join the first two who had emerged. An arcane and foreboding mystical chord struck John deeply
within his heart. For a moment, his knees went weak, and he began to ache in his elbows and shoulders,
like he had suddenly caught a fever.

78
“Look fellas, we’re just a couple of travelers looking to make our way home. We’re not looking for any
trouble, especially from the Empire.”
The first two figures turned and looked at the third who’d joined them. He reached to his collarbone on
his chest plate and turned a small knob. A swirling, off-key tune resounded.
“We’re not Imperial, kid,” said the voice through a modulator and sporting a ubiquitous Corellian
accent. “But all the same, you’re not going anywhere. We need the doctor you’re holding there, so just
put the old man down and we’ll take him. He’ll be in good hands with us.”
John’s eyes narrowed as he examined his interceptor, his heart beating faster. “Have we met before?”
“It’s a big universe, kid, there’s no way we’ve met.” A light breeze picked up at Erragal’s feet and knit
together a dancing dust cloud. In the ensuing silence John was certain the six men surrounding him
could hear the pounding drum beat emanating from his chest.
“What do you want him for?”
“We’re part of Xim’s crew. We’re off on a voyage and he’s key to our travels.”
“Xim,” muttered John, shaking his head and half chuckling. Cradling the doctor in his arms he slowly
turned around and back again, making a full circle turn and surveying his surroundings. He willed his
heartbeat to slow down. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled. Time began to slow. The
music of the Force began to swirl about his heart, the sonorous chords of that ancient voice filled his
soul. He shook his head. The clones slowly raised their blasters.
“There’s no need for a fight, kid,” said Erragal. Off in the distance the din of warfare coming from the
engineering bay had stopped.
John stood still as a monk, and then nodded. He gently placed Doctor Visely down next to the alley wall
and softly leaned him over, taking extra care to gently rest his bleeding head. The clones slowly lowered
their blasters. Taking a small step to the side, John made his way back to the center of the alley and
squared up.
“I think there is.”

Darth Hevel’s sword was an artifact nearly as old as the Sith. In her journal writings, Jedi historian and
explorer Maeve Penweld made mention that it was in the possession of Darth Ashef, but after this brief
citation it disappeared from the historical record, lost to memory for many thousands of years. The
sword appeared again in the Jedi artifact collection of Grakkus the Hutt, a known admirer and collector
of Jedi and Sith artifacts. In his research on the lore surrounding Darth Hevel’s treasure and after
studying the written works of Jedi Master Penweld intensely, the Dread Pirate Xim eventually learned of
its location in the Hutt’s collection and intuited the sword would be an important key in his quest. At
that time, he did not realize how important, but his hunch proved invaluable, as it was the sword that
revealed the treasure map and the smoke of Hevel on the Sith temple walls. What nobody knew was
that the sword was forged by Ludo Kreesh, an ancient Sith Lord, and imbued with his dark Sith magiks.
Moreover, during the time the sword had spent in Hevel’s hands, she too had infused it with her own
Sith sorcery.

79
It was this dark and arcane blade that now defended the life of the Dread Pirate Xim from the razor-
sharp onslaughts of Nym the Feeorin. The monstrous brute slashed, shouldered, and bull rushed his way
into the defenses of the Dread Pirate, as Xim did all he could to keep at a distance and use his enemy’s
strength against him.
Xim was familiar with Feeorin mythology and culture, The Crusade of Felndok the Mighty was his
favorite epic poem from Odryn, and he knew that as Feeorins aged they grew stronger, but he was
unprepared for the actual strength of Nym. With every parry of their swords, the Feeorin would step on
The Dread Pirate’s lead foot, or duck Xim’s slash and volley out a backhand in return, or spin and answer
Xim’s stab with a head-butt to the crown of his helmeted head—the force of the blow doing little to
slow down the
Feeorin.
It was Xim’s beskar
that was now keeping
him in the fight, and as
the contest wore on,
two things became
apparent to the men:
firstly, that the Dread
Pirate held the
superior blade, the
sword of Darth Hevel
biting and chipping
into the edge of Nym’s
cybernetic hand-
cannon, and secondly,
that Xim was
outmatched.
Pressing the fight, Nym
slashed and double
swirled his blade to
disarm the Dread
Pirate, but Xim stepped back, spun, and swung to cut Nym off at the knees. The Feeorin leaped, and
when he landed, bull rushed again and tackled his opponent. Xim stuck his boot into the Feeorin’s gut in
an attempt to flip him over, but Nym was too heavy, and after some jostling, the Feeorin maneuvered
his center of gravity over the Dread Pirate’s hips and into a full mount. With his knees on Xim’s elbows,
his right hand gripping Xim’s left wrist, and his cybernetic hand pinning down the pirate’s other wrist, he
smashed the Dread Pirate’s hand repeatedly onto the deck and knocked the Sith blade from his grip.
“You’re mine now,” growled Nym through gritted teeth. He released Xim’s wrist, and with his free hand,
clapped his large mitt on Xim’s throat and squeezed. Nym leaned all the way back as Xim frantically
grabbed with his own free hand, searching for something to hold on to, but finding nothing vital to grasp
and use to his advantage.
The Dread Pirate desperately kicked and tried to twist his hips free, but Nym’s positioning, strength, and
weight were too much. Xim began to gurgle while Nym grinned.

80
“A few more seconds,” mumbled Nym. Xim’s frantic kicks began to wane. Nym doubled in to squeeze
every breath out of his bounty. But slowly, silently, behind the champion pit-fighter, George tip-toed his
way out from one of the smuggling holds hidden beneath the Fairwind’s deck, and cloaked with what he
truly believed to be his Jedi invisibility, stood directly behind the mounted Feeorin. Armed with a
massive stun baton, he jabbed the weapon in between Nym’s shoulder blades and as hard as he could,
pushed into his spine. The Feeorin convulsed and was enveloped in cracking blue energy, his eyes rolling
into the back of his head. He tried to move, but George leaned in more, howling out a manly war cry.

A deep and foreboding mystical chord reverberated through the wind.

They all had been here before, and everyone knew it but John. This time was different though; John was
no longer a scared fifteen-year-old boy who had just witnessed his father’s murder. This time he was a
full-grown man, a foot taller, broader in the shoulders, growing a small field of five o’clock shadow
across his chiseled jaw, and raring for a fight. This time it was he who would dictate the action.
When John squared up the clones raised their blasters. They were in the midst of pulling their triggers
when suddenly their guns were ripped from their grasps. With a balletic wave of his hand, John made a
grand sweeping gesture and pulled their rifles into the air and up onto the rooftops where they landed
with a clatter.
He quickly turned to face the three men behind him, and gathering his internal energy, released a
powerful Force push, propelling the armored men against the far stone wall. By the time the clones
before him had registered they were disarmed, John, with heightened Jedi speed, had rushed his way
into their center and struck out a powerful side kick into the chest of one and a spinning roundhouse
kick onto the jaw of another, knocking both men off their feet. Erragal stood at the center, alone, and
began to swing. John bobbed and weaved through both of his strikes, and concentrating all his Force
powers into his now brightly glowing knuckles, he whipped his hips left and right and belted his fists into
Erragal’s ribs. Cracks of bone and a gasp of forced-out air dropped Erragal to one knee, where John
followed up with a kick to his jaw.
Before Erragal had even dropped to the ground, John had already turned to make his way down the
alley to begin engaging the other three. As they got to their feet the lone assailant was all over them like
a well-trained shock-boxer, swinging his fists and launching his feet into their guts.
Squatting above and watching from the rooftops was Silvermane. With his birds-eye view he came into
the fight by the midway point, where John had turned and began to beat the clones as they got up. In
quiet amusement, he watched as Marduk, Sargon, and Erragal shakily found their footing from the other
end of the alley and stumbled to reenter the fight.
But John was too much for them. They could not handle his youth, strength, speed, and anger.
Silvermane watched John’s eyes: they were intense–wild, feral, and on fire. The young man could see
everything coming at him and had at the ready a balled-up fist or well-placed foot to respond.
Silvermane brought his blaster’s sight to his eye and lined the crosshairs up across the back of the young
man’s head. He watched as the broad-shouldered youth began to lay waste to all six clones at once, and
almost taking pity on the grizzled veterans, pulled the trigger. The circular stun blast buried itself into
the back of John’s head, and the young Jedi fell face-first into the dust.

81
Silvermane scaled down the wall and towered over the seven bodies lying on the alley floor. Erragal was
the first to pick himself up out of the dirt. He rolled to his knees, quickly took off his helmet as a snap-
hiss of air blew from the seams, and vomited. The other clones slowly came to.
“Pathetic,” said Silvermane. “Six clone veterans and ye couldn’t handle one rarin’ youth.”
“No, Silvermane, you don’t understand,” began Erragal.
“Oh, I understand all right. Like I said, had those Kaminoans cloned the Margrave of Togoria the Clone
Wars woulda’ been over in ‘naught a fortnight.” Silvermane bent down to pick up John and threw him
over one shoulder. “Humans are just inferior, that’s all.” He walked to the middle of the alley, dipped
down again, and flung Doctor Visely over his other shoulder.
“No, Silvermane. That there is a Jedi.” Silvermane’s sharp and woolly white ears perked.
“This boy?”
“Not just any Jedi,” said Sargon as he also got to his feet, “but John Devereux, General Hawkins’s
Padawan, and the one that got away.” Silvermane stopped and turned.
“Really.”
“Silvermane, you don’t understand, this changes everything. He knows us,” said Erragal. “There is no
way we can travel with this boy. We’ll have to kill him, or he’ll kill us.” Silvermane paused for a moment
to think.
“Did he see yer faces? Does he know yer clones?” The rest of the contingent began to pick themselves
up off the floor.
“No, actually,” responded Erragal. “We all recognized him first. I used the modulator to change my voice
and spoke with a Correllian accent. What have you told Xim about us? Does he know we’re clones?”
“In fact,” Silvermane pondered, “he doesn’t. I haven’t told him a thing about ye lot. He just knows that I
collected some mercs is all.” Everyone began to congregate around each other as the seriousness of the
situation began to unfold.
“Ok, so we can still do this,” Erragal replied with confidence.
“You sure, Erragal? If John sees us once, it’ll all be over.”
“But he won’t. We all got masks and modulators. We just need to make sure we speak with Corellian
accents and come up with a backstory.”
“A backstory?! By the stars, Erragal, this is getting out of hand.”
“It’s not, Sar, listen.” Erragal turned to his clone brothers, “We’re from Corellia, we fought as hired guns
during the Clone Wars; we did a tour on Onderon for the Resistance, and we ran with Churhee’s
Riflemen. We’re now mercs for hire, and Silvermane found us.”
“Not bad, Cap.”
“Did you just come up with that off the top of your head?”
“All right, settle down. Listen, we need names. Everyone, pick a name.”

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“How’re we going to remember all this, Erragal?” Erragal stood with his hands on his hips, looking at the
ground. He slowly shook his head, and after a few moments of silence he looked up at his crew.
“Ok. I’ve got it. Silvermane, take John and the doctor to the ship. Gives us a few minutes to get our gear
and head to the Wolf-Cat. I saw a fusion cutter there. We’re going to carve our names into our armor,
and work on our backstory.” Everyone took a few seconds to digest what Erragal had just spit out.
Silvermane began to laugh.
“Name tags!?” howled the Togorian. “Your big idea is name tags?”
“Well, what else you got?!” shouted Erragal. “You want us to kill Xim with you, right?!” Silvermane’s
eyes went wide.
“All right, settle down will ye, quit yer shoutin’”
“You stupid Togorian, you realize we’re all in this together, don’t you?” said Ky.
“Where’s Dagon?” asked Sargon.
“He went back to the shuttle.” Silvermane stepped closer to Ky. “Call me stupid again!”
“You can’t see the forest for the trees, you stupid savage. Erragal is trying to make this work, but you
just scoff, you kriffin’ half-brain!” Silvermane’s snout crinkled, exposing his fangs. His long silver fur
prickled up his spine and a deep rumbling growl began in the pit of his chest. The clones stepped closer
to circle around him.
“How many times are we going to do this?” said Ky. For a few tense moments the clones could see
Silvermane was running through his mental calculations. His growl stopped.
“Fine!” With two bodies slung over his shoulders he broke away from the group. He called over his back.
“Go get yer business done at the Wolf-Cat and bring both ships ‘round to the Fairwind. I’ll let Xim know
yer on yer way.” He disappeared down the narrow alley of Brogar’s Port village.

Nym, the Feeorin of Lok, tipped over and folded onto the deck. Xim squirmed out from beneath the
Feeorin’s full mount, and gasping for breath, rubbed his neck. Laying on his elbows he focused his eyes
on the blur before him.
“George?!” he called, mildly confused.
“Lord Xim,” George nodded.
“By Solomon’s beard! You beautiful, beautiful man!”
“I try me best, Capt’n.”
Xim coughed and inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath.
“You were as silent as a Jedi, George...by Solomon’s beard, I didn’t even hear you approach.”
“That’s because I am a Jedi, Capt’n’”
“What’s that...a Jedi?”

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“No one believes me when I tell ‘em. When I was a wee lad, I told me own mudder I was a Jedi and she
none believed me. I swear to you, Capt’n, I could sneak around town with none the wiser’”
“Well, I think I believe you, Master George. Quickly,” said Xim “before he comes to. The detonator.” The
Dread Pirate got to one knee and pulled his blaster. He gingerly forced himself up, made his way to the
folded Feeorin lying on the deck, pushed Nym onto his back and dug his knee into his sternum. He
pressed the tip of his blaster against Nym’s forehead and pulled the trigger twice. The muffled blasts
exited out the back of Nym’s head, followed by a gushing pool of blood. He grabbed the detonator from
Nym’s belt and hooked it to his own.
“Well done, Capt’n,” said George. “Your legend continues to grow. You just single handedly bested Nym
of Lok in hand-to-hand combat. They shall sing tales to you across the galaxy in the drinking halls of
honor, M’Lord.”
Xim chuckled and rubbed his tender neck. “George, you are an absolute gift to me, my good man.”
“Ahhh, Capt’n, you’re makin’ me blush.” The two shared a soft and intimate laugh.
“Well, Capt’n, what now?”
“What’s the situation with the rydonium?”
“Ahh, Finnbarr took care of all that, M’Lord, he went around and deactivated all the connections.”
“That Mon Calamari is brilliant.”
“You ought to pay us more.”
“Believe me, George, when we’ve recovered the treasure, I will. You two are worth your weight in gold.
And the droids?”
“All deactivated, and they’re a bit worse for wear. I’ll get on it before we push off.”
Xim got up and made his way to the side of the Fairwind. He leaned over the rails. “It looks like
Silvermane has dealt with Nym’s crew. But where is he?”
“Who knows, Capt’n. I’m sure he’s on his way.” Xim looked out over the horizon and placed his hand
over his masked face, as if he were blocking out the sun.
“George?”
“Yes, M’Lord?”
Xim turned around to face his engineer. “Do you still carry that little poetry book? The one you tuck into
your back pocket?”
“I didn’t know you knew, M’Lord.”
“I do, George.” George smiled and pulled out a rolled-up book from his back pocket. “It’s right here.”
“Read me a little poem, George, while I sit down and catch my breath.”
“As you wish, M’Lord.” George licked his finger and began to flip through his little book of parchment.
“Here’s one:

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 The golden galleon that glides the black seas
Silently sails as we catch the Son’s breeze.
The slavers and Hutts look behind in fear
As we silently follow with our unicorn spear.
The Dread Pirate Xim, a Hero for all
He will live forever in Solomon’s hall.”

Xim slowly nodded. “You are a gentleman and a scholar, George.”

“Only since you rescued me from Hutt slavery, M’Lord.”

“Tear a page from your book George, and write this down: ‘Grakkus, you’re next’. Then pin the page to
Nym’s chest.” George scribbled in his book and knelt next to the dead body. Xim leaned over Nym’s
corpse to read the message.
“‘Your Next’? Come now, George, mind your grammar. It’s ‘You’re Next’. You’ve written it in the
possessive case. Put an apostrophe between the usk and the resh and add an esk at the end.”
“Embarrasin’, M’Lord.” George scribbled again, tore the first note off Nym’s cotton shirt, and attached
his edited version.
“Good, now let’s lift this bloody mess off the deck and toss him over. Hopefully, word will get to
Grakkus.”
Xim stood at Nym’s head and tucked his hands underneath the Freeorin’s armpits while George grabbed
his ankles. “Mind the blood puddle, M’Lord, don’t slip.”
“My, he’s heavy,” George grunted. The two waddled to the side of the Fairwind and gave the body a few
swings to build momentum.
“Heave!”
Nym’s corpse was tossed overboard, flipping the whole distance until it collapsed into the dust with a
loud crunch.
“Watch it!” called a gruff voice below. Xim and George leaned over.
“Silvermane!” Xim bellowed. The three men turned on their comms.
“Ye nearly killed me! Watch where yer tossin’ yer dead bodies!” said Silvermane. He scrutinized the
body a little closer. “Is that Nym?!” He read the note pinned on the body. “Impressive note.”
“Yes, it is. I defeated him in hand-to-hand combat,” Xim said with an arrogant and celebratory air. He
leaned one elbow on the ship’s rails. “They shall sing tales of me in the drinking halls of honor
Silvermane,” Xim laughed and Silvermane wrinkled his snout in disgust.
“Is that Doctor Visely and the boy slung over your shoulders?”
“Yes.”
“Where are the mercenaries?”
“They’re bringin’ ‘round the Wolf-Cats. Permission to come ‘aboard, Capt’n.”

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“Granted, Silvermane, let’s go find the treasure!”

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 Chapter 6
Hevel’s Craft, Invented Pasts, A Glowing Path
Bacta tasted like blood.
John had never been in a bacta tank before; his only experience with one was back at the Jedi Temple.
He had once caught a glimpse of Jedi Master Depa Billaba suspended in the clear, tubular tank. Her
mouth was stuffed with a breathing apparatus, and she floated, fetal-like, submerged in the clear liquid
and held by thin cords wrapped around her waist. She had spent many months within one recovering
from a General Grievous induced coma. John, when he was a Padawan, and in some absent-minded
wandering through the Temple as he read, had meandered into the infirmary and watched her floating
there.
At that time there were many things he wondered about bacta: whether it was warm or cool, and if it
felt thin like water, or viscous like slime; what one’s sight and hearing were like while they hung
submerged in the liquid; whether one’s dreams were different while one floated in mild sensory
deprivation; and a final notion came to him that he thought rather strange—whether being suspended
in a bacta tank was somehow like being in the womb.
All of his questions were answered. As he was sailing through the black seas of space onboard the
golden Fairwind, hanging suspended in the Dread Pirate Xim’s healing capsule, he had answers to his
musings and also an answer to a question he had never asked: bacta tasted like blood.
He opened his eyes and tried to focus them beyond the glass boundary, but all he could see was a large
white blur. His mouth felt stretched along the corners, so he reached toward his lips, and felt the same
breathing apparatus that had been stuffed into Master Billaba’s mouth protruding from his own.
Suddenly, a large, feral paw with thick black pads pressed itself against the glass, and rhythmic claws,
long, sharp, and fierce, strummed the thick, translucent walls of the tank. John could hear muffled
voices, and suddenly the cords that were wrapped around his waist began to pull him upward and out of
the tank.
As he was hauled from his artificial womb, his hearing became clear and he could perceive the high-
frequency whirring of the metal cords slowly cranking him up, and as he descended, he felt two big
paws reach up and grab him by his waist.
“Steady-up, boy. Yer in good hands, not to worry none. Yer feet are ‘bout to touch the ground, make
sure you can stand on yer own strength.” John felt his feet hit the cold metal floor, and to his mild
surprise, his knees and legs were strong and held his body. Padded hands moved to his eyes with a cloth
and wiped away the clear, viscous liquid from his lids. The rag felt rough and the Togorian wasn’t gentle.
“Yer all right, boy, don’t be attakin’ me none. Nobody here means ye harm.”
John opened his eyes and before him was a massive Togorian, nearly nine foot in height. He wore
double crossed bandoliers, a thick black belt with a shining silver buckle framed his torso from his legs,
and thick, padded cargo pants that reached to mid-calf exposed large, fur-covered bare feet.
“Who…who are you?” he asked groggily.
“Name’s Silvermane, Lord Xim’s first mate.”
John sighed in disgusted exasperation as the Togorian wiped him down. “I’m tired of that name.”

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“I’m gonna unbuckle ye from th’ bacta harness. There’s a refresher behind ye and some clothes are
laundered and waiting for ye on the bed there.” Silvermane worked around John’s body and unclipped
the wires around his waist.
John’s vision came into focus as he looked around. He was in a silver and sterile medical bay. In the
corner was a B2 medical droid standing next to a slim bed with white sheets. A pile of clothes not his
own were neatly folded and waiting for him at the end.
Silvermane motioned to a shower behind John, and in moments the young man was standing
underneath a hot cascade of water, its luxurious warmth pulling him back to his life at the temple. The
Admiral Webbon Inn did not have a refresher like this. It was cold and cramped and the shower was a
trickle of drips.
Standing underneath the lavish heat, he began to replay the last few moments he could remember in his
mind.
“Where is…”
“Doctor Visely is waiting for ye in Lord Xim’s quarters,” interrupted Silvermane, as if he had read John’s
thoughts. The Togorian stood just outside the open refresher doors. “Like I said, boy, nobody here
means ye harm. The Doctor and Xim are workin’ together now and have come to an understandin’.”
The steam rolled, cloud-like, into the medical bay, and beneath the shower, John took many collected
beats to digest what the Torogorian had said. Arby had trilled the same message to him as he hauled
Doctor Visely’s body from the transport, but still, he was trying to work it all out in his mind.
“You get what I’m sayin’, boy? We’re all friends here now, everythin’ is sorted.” John took a moment to
reach out with the Force, but despite the Togorian’s assurances there was still a twinge of hesitation in
the air, like a danger was still lurking in the peripheries, lying in wait. He could not be certain the threat
wasn’t coming from the large white beast.
“All right, so now what?” he said with slight suspicion.
“So now ye get dressed and I escort ye to Lord Xim’s quarters for supper. The cook has made roast nuna,
and Doctor Visely and Lord Xim are waitin’ for ye.”
John extinguished the shower and Silvermane handed him a towel. He examined the clothes given to
him.
“Whose clothes are these?”
“Those? They were Andrew Woodman’s. The former first mate. He was killed by some Zygerrians. You
two have the same frame.”
John pulled on the stranger’s clothes. Silvermane was right, they fit him well. They were similar to what
he already had: a blue, collared, button-down cotton shirt, a pair of tight-fitting khakis, knee high leather
boots, and a double leather holster that strapped along the back and arms and could fit two pistols.
In a few moments he was dry and dressed, and Silvermane motioned for him to exit the bay.
The door whooshed open, and the pirate and the Jedi moved into the Fairwind’s refined halls. Stepping
out from the sterile medical bay, the two set foot into a rounded hall encased in rich, dark wood. There
was a slight smell of sweet pipe tobacco wafting through the air. John marveled at the exquisite crown
molding which ran all the way through the ship’s corridors. Complimentary hardwood floors ran the

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length of the floor and small, wrought iron lanterns hung delicately from the high ceilings, casting a
warm, creamy light.
“What sort of ship is this?”
“Ahh,” Silvermane chuckled, “Ye be aboard the greatest ship ever built. The Fairwind.” John ran his
hand over the dark crown molding.
“The craftsmanship is superb.”
“It’s an ancient vessel, originally commissioned and built by the Old Republic Jedi Master Valenthyne
Farfalla.”
“Farfalla, of the Battle of Ruusan?”
Silvermane stopped and examined John with a furrowed brow. “The boy knows his Jedi history.”
John quickly glanced down, like he had given up too much. “Yeah, a little, the spacers at the inn would
tell me stories.”
Silvermane grunted, “Yeah, Xim said something about ye bein’ an innkeeper’s lad.”
The two continued down the hall and into a lift, standing in cramped quarters next to each other.
Silvermane broke the silence that was growing as the elevator repulsed upward.
“Lord Xim says yer here as his guest. He says that after ye share a meal with him, and he lays out his
plans, that if ye don’t want to come yer free to go. Ye be nobody’s prisoner boy. And just so there’s no
hard feelin’s ‘tween us, it was me who shot ye back at Szin.”
“You always shoot your opponents in the back?” John quipped.
Silvermane turned and glowered down at him.
“Just to be clear boy, I don’t adhere to any honor codes when it comes to
fightin’. I fight to kill. I fight to win. Belevin’ in honor codes is stupid. It’ll get ye
killed. So yeah, I shot ye in the back. Ye were laying waste to me crew. What of
it?”
Though each man was already pressed into the other’s personal space,
Silvermane stepped into John’s a little more. But John squared up to the giant
Togorian and inched ahead.
Silvermane rolled out a low rumble. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot, boy. I
was tryin’ to clear the air, but if ye want to have a tussle, I’m game.”
John’s jaw muscles flexed as he stepped back a little. The hairs along 21
Silvermane’s back remained prickled. The door to the lift opened and
Silvermane stepped out first.
“This way to Lord Xim’s quarters,” he said over his shoulder. The walk was long. The repulsor lift was
situated at the stern of the ancient galleon, while Xim’s quarters were located at the bow.
“Well, if yer finished with yer reproaches, boy, I was gonna compliment ye on yer ability to fight. Ye
bested six hard men of me crew. Those kinds of skills could get one crowned King of Togoria, I reckon. A

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worthy challenger ye might be.” Silvermane looked John up and down as the young man caught up to
him. “An innkeeper, ye say? Where did ye learn to fight innkeeper’s lad?”
John didn’t respond immediately, but as they got closer to Xim’s door he replied, “Innkeeping can be a
hard business, but you know that. You’ll find I’m full of surprises.” They stopped in front of the Dread
Pirate’s ornate double doors, and Silvermane rang the bell.
The door whooshed open, and they were greeted by a royal blue, GG-series hospitality droid21.
“Welcome, Sir John Hawkins of the planet Llanic. The Dread Pirate Xim extends his warmest regards and
invites you to sup with him and Doctor Visely this evening. Will you join them?”
Silvermane turned down the hall, leaving John to enter the Dread Pirate’s quarters on his own. He
called over his shoulder, “Full of surprises, ye say? Not as many as ye think, boy.”

“…airlock.”
The door to the clone’s quarters opened with a whoosh, and Silvermane ducked under the frame to
enter. He made his way to the lower levels of the Fairwind to meet with his crew, and within their
sleeping quarters, the seven men stood about conversing. They were all still masked and clad in their
red composite armor. Silvermane had come in at the end of a thought, his massive body blocking the
open doorway. The door closed behind him.
“Whatever ideas ye be brewin’, it ends here,” he barked. He eyed each man and noticed they had
welded silver rectangles onto their chests, each engraved with a name. “Erragal, where be ye?” Erragal
separated himself from his men and stepped forward. Silvermane read the new moniker on his chest.
“Bones?”
“We had to think quickly,” replied Erragal.
“Ye dealt with yer accents, too. All right, this may work.” Silvermane walked to each man and read his
engraved codename.
“Solan, who be ye?”
“Sargon.”
“Arch, who be ye?”
“Gibil.”
“Varek, who be ye?”
“Marduk.”
“Zeth, who be ye?”
“Dagon.”
“Ahh Dagon, yer good in a fight. Ye had me back well.” Silvermane moved on.
“Eddy, who be ye?”

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“Martu.”
“Krig, who be ye?”
“Ky.”
“Well, that’s us now, isn’t it?” Silvermane took the center of the room. The sleeping quarter was
minimal in its function. There were ten hammocks slung against a back wall, with a small refresher off to
the side. The interior had none of the richness of the ship’s halls or other rooms, but instead reflected
the sterileness of the medical bay.
“All talk of airlocks ends here.”
“Silvermane, John Devereux is…”
“Dangerous?” Silvermane cut him off. “Of course he be. He’s a Jedi, and no longer a whelp. A full man
he is.”
“Keeping him alive is a mistake,” started Erragal. “He’s an enemy of the Empire and needs to be
executed for treason!”
“Come off it, Erragal! Enough of this!” shot Sargon. “Those days are over! We’re no longer part of that
State. We’re not part of any Empire. They tossed us out. And here we are—constantly on the edge of
fisticuffs with a raging Togorian, teaming up with a relic of a pirate looking for a lost treasure! Kriffing
stars! Enough with this Almighty Empire sithspit.”
“Sithspit, Sar? You want back into the Empire just as much as I do, or has something changed?”
The room went quiet. Sargon turned his back to Erregal.
“Solan be right,” broke in Silvermane. “And start using yer codenames lest the boy catch wind and toss
ye out yer own airlock. But as I say, there’ll be no use of airlocks, not ‘til the very end of this voyage
anyhow. We’re gonna need that Jedi when we get to where we’re goin’. Like I said before, we’re gonna
be up against it, and when we are, I want a Jedi in me corner rathers than not.”
The clones slowly nodded, except Erragal.
“Stick to the plan. We get the treasure and once everything is secured, we can toss everyone out of
whichever airlock pleases ye.” Silvermane turned to Erragal, “Ye hear me?” Erragal gave a soft nod.
Silvermane turned to leave, but right before he exited, he turned back.
“At ease in the meanwhile. Xim will call us to the cargo bay for inspection in some time. He must still
formally meet ye all. I suspect he’ll be forthcoming with the details of our voyage then.” He walked out
leaving the clones to themselves once more. Erragal took the center of attention.
“I concede Silvermane is right. We’ll do what we agreed to do, but once we’re done, we need to
complete the job asked of us five years ago.”
“Programmed, you mean,” Interrupted Sargon.
“Not now, Sar,” Erragal pointed aggressively at Sargon. “There is a Jedi in our midst, and he needs to go,
but in the meantime, we’ll not act like clones. The only time you take your helmet off is in this room
when the door is locked. We won't eat in the mess hall, we’ll take our meals in here. The password to

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get in is two-seven-six—should be easy enough to remember. Don’t speak unless you have to, and make
sure if you do speak, you keep your Corellian accents crisp and your modulators tuned.”

John followed the GG-series hospitality droid into an anteroom with another set of ornately decorated
double doors. Like the halls of the ship, the walls were dressed in dark crown molding, and the high
ceilings featured a stained-glass chandelier hanging from above. The scent of sweet pipe tobacco
permeated the space. The droid pushed open one of the doors and gave a sweeping gesture to the
young man.
“Please enter, Sir John Hawkins of Llanic.”
“John is fine.”
“Indeed, Sir John.”
“What I mean to say is…”
John entered a room unlike anything he had ever seen on a spaceship. It was like he had walked into the
grand chamber of an estate house from one of the ancient mansions found in the lavish neighborhood
of Old Town, home to Coruscanti senators and old-world money. The far wall was a massive window
that wrapped nearly half the room and towered nearly thirty feet in height, the blue barrel of
hyperspace spinning beyond it.
Like the rest of the ship, opulent High Republic charm dripped from the room’s borders: whether it was
more molding, or art, or a hanging tapestry, or some other ancient artifact exhibited beneath a glass
dome or on display inside a richly crafted curio cabinet, the fragrant aroma of wealth wafted from every
square inch.
“Johannes!”
John recognized the familiar voice of his friend. At the center of the room was a large dining table where
John could see that Doctor Visely was sitting at a candlelit dinner with the Dread Pirate Xim. Doctor
Visely leaped out of his chair and ran to the young man.
“Xim never said you were awake! Xim, did you know ze boy was awake?” John could see there was a
bandage over Doctor Visely’s head. The old man ran over and wrapped his arms tightly around him and
buried his face into the young man’s chest. John hugged the old man back.
The Dread Pirate Xim stood up from his seat at the head of the table.
“It was my surprise for you, Doctor.” Xim’s voice resonated from behind his smiling visage, the
modulator adding gravitas to his already deep voice. “John, please pull up a chair and join us for dinner.”
“Oh, Johannes, I am so happy to see you. You are such a good boy, Johannes, you were always
protecting me, like a good boy. Back at Elom, when Xim surprised us, you stood in front and you
protected me, and Xim says you beat up his crew to protect me.” Doctor Visely looked up into John’s
eyes. His own eyes were welling with tears. “You are such a good, strong boy. I am so happy you are ok.”
Doctor Visely turned his face and rested his cheek on John’s chest and hugged tighter.
“I’m glad to see you too, Doc.” Then he whispered, “What’s going on? I thought we were trying to get
away from this guy?”

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“No, no, Johannes, zings changed, so many zings changed. Come, sit and eat with us, we will tell you
everyzing.” Doctor Visely moved to bring John to the table, but the young man hesitated.
Doctor Visely whispered to him, “Everyzing is ok, Johannes, I promise, Xim is not so bad.”
“John, I know our first few encounters were fraught with tension, but Doctor Visely and I have worked
out our differences. I would be honored if you joined us.” Xim motioned to an empty chair and dinner
setting. John acquiesced and sat down, with Doctor Visely and Xim following just after. Within moments,
a droid rolled out from one of the doors at the side of the room and placed a roasted nuna on his plate.
The young man had not realized how hungry he was, but with proper meal decorum, he controlled his
vicious desire to wolf down his food and politely began his meal.
“Droid! Pour the young man some wine!” said Visely.
“Gregory, some soft music please,” Xim spoke to the GG-series droid who had first welcomed John. The
droid pushed a button on his chest panel and soft, instrumental music began to breathe through the air.
“Everyone, please eat.” Xim gave some time for John and Doctor Visely to enjoy their meals, his setting
conspicuously empty, before he began to speak.
“Well, this is pleasant, is it not, gentlemen? Doctor Visely, why don’t you begin and get our young
warrior up to speed on all that has transpired between us.”
“Ja ja, Xim. Johannes, I have so much to tell you. Where to begin? Ok, ja, first: do you remember when
we were at Elom?”
“Yes, where our host shot me.”
Doctor Visely paused a little and looked at Xim. “Ja, well, I agree zhat was bad form. But Xim did not
know many zings, or rather; he knew some zings I did not. But nevermind zhat for now, tell me, how did
you expose the constellation map on ze wall, how did you move away, ze…. ze…how to call it? Ze
invisible smoke?”
John’s eyes widened slightly, and inside his chest his heart began to beat faster. His face went flush, a
mixture of wine and panic. He looked at the two men as they looked back expectantly. The question
came at him so quickly.
“I…. I…” John searched for something to say, a convincing lie, anything, but the truth was he didn’t
precisely know. He was simply following the will of the Force, but he could not say such a thing. Nothing
but a truth he could not speak came to mind, and only awkward silence followed. “I…”
“Well, Doctor, let’s not worry about the how. The point is we exposed an important clue. Allow me to
tell the young man how I also managed to expose the ‘invisible smoke’ as you so aptly named it.”
Xim stood up and unsheathed his sword.
“This here, John, is the sword of Darth Hevel,” he balanced the sword in both hands. “Have you ever
heard of her?”
“Only from what Doctor Visely has told me...”
“Xim read my thesis!” Visely interrupted, grinning widely, “And mein books.”
“Yes, I did,” Xim nodded at Doctor Visely acknowledging his interjection. The Pirate Lord then reached
over the table and firmly grasped the tip of the sword, handing the hilt to John.

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The young man seized the hilt and deep within his chest his heart began to hum. An uneasy mix of
strength, power, and dread washed over him. A small smile and breathless chuckle ran from his lips. His
mind rushed back to the cliff’s edge, where he and his father shared their last smiles and embrace, and a
softly rolling anger grew within him.
You will have your revenge…your revenge.
“Huh…it’s…I…I’m not sure how to describe it.” Xim watched the young man furrow his brow in
consternation as he held the sword, his look of bewilderment juxtaposed with a growing smile. He
tested the weight of the weapon, spun it in a flourish and cut the air.
“It’s so…so smooth.” John stood admiring the weapon for a while, the red line running down the center
of the blade growing a bright crimson.
“Yes, well…” Xim extended his hand back out, and John, reading the cue, handed it back. The Dread
Pirate sheathed his blade and remained standing at the head of the table. He gave John a small nod and
John sat back down in his seat.
“Gentlemen,” he began, his deeply modulated voice echoing out from behind the unchanging visage of
his smiling mask, “before we begin to put together all the pieces of our puzzle and launch our quest for
the treasure of Darth Hevel, let me begin by saying I am glad we have finally come together as friends
and not enemies. Our coming together began with too many misunderstandings, so let us not keep
anything hidden from each other and let us share all we know about this most intriguing figure of Sith
history and, most importantly, the whereabouts of her treasure horde.”
“Hear, hear!” said Doctor Visely, raising his chalice.
“Allow me to begin,” Xim began to pace slowly back and forth. “This sword is the key to our quest,
gentleman. It was what allowed me to see the constellation map hidden on the fresco at Elom, and as I
have come to discover, this is no ordinary sword.” Xim tapped the hilt as he spoke.
“Two important artifacts came into my possession when I liberated them from the collection of Grakkus
the Hutt aboard his yacht. The first is the sword of Darth Hevel, which I will proffer to you may be
improperly named, and the second is a surprise for you, Doctor Visely. So, if you will allow me, let me
give some of the history I have discovered regarding the sword.”
John locked his eyes on Xim, noting his hand gestures and short pacing at the head of the table. He
drank in the pirate’s black Mandalorian armor, his tattered red cape slung to the side, his holstered
blaster, and his most curious mask.
“Although the sword in my possession is called The Sword of Darth Hevel, it was not Hevel’s originally. I
have come to learn that this sword was forged by the ancient Sith King, Ludo Kressh.”
“Really?” interrupted a shocked Visely.
“Yes, Doctor. This sword was forged by the Dark Lord himself. History from the Jedi archives speaks of
Kressh forging weapons in the past: a gauntlet and a war sword for example, but this weapon, I have
come to learn, was forged in secret. Using his knowledge of Sith alchemy and Sith magiks, Kressh was
able to use the Force to effect change on physical objects, and in this case, he transferred some part of
his essence or spirit into this very sword.”
Something in John’s mind clicked, like the pins in a lock all dropping upon the entrance of the key.

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“Historians of the Sith like ourselves,” he gestured to Doctor Visely, “understand that Sith are on a
constant quest for immortality. These alchemical rituals by Kressh, rooted in his ancient Sith paganism,
were some of the first recorded attempts by a Sith at achieving physical immortality. Now, the ultimate
purpose of this particular ritual is still speculative, for how can one live forever in a sword? But there is
more to this magik than we know.”
“And where did you learn of all this, Xim?” asked Visely.
“In due course, Doctor,” Xim nodded. “I have come to believe the sword itself holds the essence of
Kressh, but that is not all. Did you not feel something when you held it, John?”
John was a little taken aback that the lecture had turned to him.
“I… suppose I did, yes.”
“And what did you feel?”
John looked down for an instant to gather his thoughts, wondering what word to choose, but only one
word came to mind.
“Power.”
“Indeed. Power resides within the very being of this sword. Its power sings aloud to the universe. Like
moths drawn to a flame, those seeking power heed its call.” Xim grasped the hilt tighter as he spoke.
“And heed the call Hevel did. At some point in time this enigmatic Elomin Sith Lord found the sword of
Kressh, and like her ancient precursor before her, she performed powerful Sith alchemy on it where she
too poured her essence into the weapon.”
Xim paused with his hand on the hilt. He then pulled the sword out of its scabbard and examined it
again.
“It is still rife with mysteries. How many other fragments of Sith souls reside in this blade? What is its
ultimate purpose?” he waxed to the room softly and then caught himself.
“And finally, to my point: it was this sword that pushed away the smoke of Hevel on the fresco at Elom.
This sword is deeply connected to the mystery of the Force, and when I laid hands on it, the sword itself
spoke to me, telling me to go back to Elom to look again at the mural of StarCrow. And it was right. I say
to you, gentlemen, truly, it spoke to me.”
The room fell silent and at that exact moment the music had stopped. John and Visely, each to their
own, acknowledged the goosebumps running up their backs as Xim wove the tale.
“But there’s more…” said Xim.
“Hevel was a woman possessed, and she knew her quest for immortality would require vast sums of
wealth. She did not have the same resources as her rival Sith Lords, so she needed another way to
acquire a vast fortune to achieve her ends. The legend of Xim the Despot and his treasure horde on the
Queen of Ranroon was alive and well in her day, just as in ours. And like you hypothesized in your work
Doctor, Hevel was playing the long game—hoping to uncover the deepest secrets of Sith Magik to
conquer her rivals. And for her, a step in achieving her final goal of immortality was recovering the vast
fortune of Daritha Xim.”
“Ja ja, Xim, but again, how are you so sure? Zis is all just my thesis.”

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Xim reached to his side underneath his cape, and just under his arm was a pocket. He unclicked its
fasteners and produced some folded sheets of paper.
“I give you the missing pages of Penweld’s journal.” He gently tossed them on the table before Visely.
The doctor looked up at Xim, astonished.
“Ze missing pages?” he said in a near whisper.
“Yes, Doctor, take a look.”
Doctor Visely gingerly unfolded the many sheets. The writing was elegant cursive, completed in black
ink. Along with the words were many drawings and Doctor Visely took his time to work through them.
John and Xim watched Visely in silence, his face moving from shock, to consternation, to joy. He shakily
reached for his wine, took a sip, and having made his way toward the end of the torn out pages, he
focused on a hand drawn star map.
“A constellation,” he said.
“Yes, Doctor, it’s far beyond the edges of the known galaxy, at Mytus VII bordering on Wild Space; but
there,” he pointed, “look at its shape. The voxyn constellation.”
“And zen ze journal lists all ze animals on the mural.”
“Master Penweld was following the history of Hevel as well and used the same works you are familiar
with: Ecem and Ashef in particular. But inexplicably, after her short expedition into Wild Space she came
back to the Jedi Temple, deposited her work in the archives, and retired to one of the Jedi Agri-Corps
farming communities.”
“Remarkable, Xim. And you got zese pages from Grakkus as well?”
“Yes, Doctor. But there is so much there we need to unpack.” Xim pulled his chair next to Doctor Visely’s
at the table.
“John, come, pull closer to us.” John also picked up his chair and moved closer to the doctor and the
pirate. The three of them sat close together, pouring over the journal.
“I don’t think Penweld knew of the constellation map at Elom,” began the pirate, “I think, like you,
through studying the works of Ecem and Ashef she intuited something, and somehow hit upon the
voxyn constellation in Wild Space, but was unable to go further.”
“Probably because there are no hyperspace routes,” offered John.
“Yes, that’s a considerable reason I believe,” agreed Xim, “but I think there was more to it. It is my belief
that she was simply unable to connect all the dots—quite literally. And she didn’t have the sword—that
much is clear. Plus, I don’t think she had the time or the tech to head into Wild Space and plot a
hyperspace route. And that, gentlemen, is where we will pick up her trail.”
“Do you know where to go zen, Xim?” asked Visely.
“Well, no, Doctor, not precisely, but we are at an advantage. We have a guide in the form of the map
from the fresco wall, we have Penweld’s missing pages, we have the sword of Hevel, we have you and
this most gifted young man,” he placed his hand on John’s shoulder, “and we have the Fairwind.”
“The Fairwind?” said John

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“Yes, my young friend! The Fairwind! It is almost as if she was built for this one voyage alone! For you
see, she is one of a kind and equipped with solar sails. Unfortunately, when you two were brought
onboard you were both unconscious and could not drink in her majesty, but look there, to the tapestry
on the wall. The magnificent Fairwind!” John and Visely looked up at the grand tapestry hanging on the
wall.
“Look out her grand front window.” Xim gestured to the massive windows before them, where the blue
lines of hyperspace barreled past. “Currently we are below the bridge, in my personal quarters. Above
us the windows continue for another thirty feet, to where my warbot crew and my helmsman Fiji are
currently sailing us through the black seas of space,” Xim continued.
“What you can’t see from here are the Fairwind’s solar sails. They are rolled up at the moment, as the
Fairwind’s hyperdrive is currently driving us, but when they are unfurled, we can simply use space’s
copious supply of tachyon streams and supralight emissions to make our way through the galaxy. We do
not require any other power source, and we can move through space leaving no trace of our effort.”
“Remarkable,” said John.
“When we eventually begin to move through Wild Space, we will exit hyperspace, unfurl her sails and fly
through realspace, but much faster than any modern sublight engine. We will blaze a new hyperspace
route, and our sails will be the key, courtesy of the Gree, and their adaptations of ancient Rakata
technology.”
“Rakata technology?!” exclaimed Visely, “Zhat reminds me Xim, what do you know about ze Starry Cloak
of ze Daritha?”
“Well, I believe the cloak and my sails have a common ancestry, and that the cloak will do what the
legends say: make one invisible.”
“Ja, I agree. Zis is what I’m really looking for Xim. Since I was a boy, ze Starry Cloak of ze Daritha
fascinated me. A magical cloak of invisibility. What one could do, no?” Visely chuckled a bit.
“I agree, Doctor, this cloak may well be the real treasure. But look here, I want you to see this.” Xim
flipped back into some of the pages and brought John and Visely’s attention to a drawing of a flower.
“A Murakami?” blurted John. Visely and Xim both slowly stared at the young man. “I…I…heard about
this plant from…”
“From the spacers at the inn,” finished Visely, chuckling a bit. John blushed a little. Xim interjected, “We
know, John. Not to worry. Doctor Visely and I are glad you are willing to share with us what you know.
Believe me when I say to you, we’re all friends here. So, what did the spacers tell you?” Doctor Visely
grinned a little at Xim’s question and gave John a twinkling wink.
“It’s a force-sensitive flower. That’s all I know really. Well, I also know it’s very delicate, and has
mysterious properties to it.”
“Indeed,” said Xim. “Doctor, did Ecem or Ashef ever mention this flower?”
“Yes. Ecem and Ashef both made mention zhat zhey were looking for one, following Hevel’s
instructions.”

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“That’s right. Here, I have something else to show you. Gregory, the book please.” The GG-series droid
rolled over and handed Xim a small book. Xim opened the front page and tapped a small blue holochip
embedded on the back of the front cover. An image of a human female Jedi came to life.
“This is Hestizo Trace. She was a Jedi from circa 10 ASC. She lived during the initial stages of the Sith
Empire’s sacking of Coruscant. Here in this book are my transcribed notes about what I know of her.
She was a Jedi botanist and was the caretaker of a Murakami flower, and…” Xim paused for effect, “she
killed Darth Scabrous.”
John’s eyes went wide and Doctor Visely’s mouth fell open.
“She…she killed Scabrous? She knew Scabrous? But how can zis be?”
“The details are not clear, Doctor, as a lot of the history is only hinted at, but it has to do with this
flower. Here is what we know: Scabrous’s experiments in Sith alchemy, magik, and science were used to
create an immortality potion, the Murakami flower being the main ingredient. But something went
horribly wrong. The intent was to use the flower to create an elixir of eternal life; but it did not create
eternal life, but eternal living death instead.
“Living death?” whispered Visely.

“Zombies?” replied John.

“Precisely,” answered Xim.

“We know Hevel followed Scabrous’s experiments, and I think she brought Scabrous’s quest to its full
culmination.”

“So, what does zis mean for us?”

“As the young man said, good Doctor: zombies. The path to Hevel’s treasure may be littered with and
protected by the undead, and possibly by Hevel herself.”
“Hevel...alive?” gasped Visely.
“It may be so, which is why I had my first mate, Silvermane, hire a hearty crew of grizzled veterans, and
why we must first travel to Iego to pad our numbers. But one more thing, Doctor; I have for you my last
piece of evidence.”
Xim went back to the head of the table and reached underneath it. He pulled up a dismembered head of
a B2 commando droid.
“We will need the whole crew together to examine what I have here. Plus, we need to complete proper
introductions.”
Xim pressed some buttons on his wrist comm.
“George, prepare the war table and all its accoutrements in the cargo hold.” He pressed another button
and a two-toned whistle echoed through the ship’s comms. His voice boomed through all the
loudspeakers.
“Attention all crew. It is time for proper introductions. Silvermane, gather the new sailors and have
everyone meet in the cargo hold in ten minutes. Xim out.”

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Xim, John, and Doctor Visely were the first to reach the cargo hold. Waiting for them was the chef
Finnbar, and as instructed, George had set up a large, rectangular, metal table with a holoprojector in
the middle. John looked around and was impressed with the size of the bay. Parked side by side in the
back were the two Wolf-Cats, and on the far wall was the cargo bay door, flanked by two large, polished
pistons. Two LE repair droids orbited the Wolf-Cats performing maintenance duties, the loud whirring of
their air wrenches echoing through the Fairwind’s capacious storage chamber.
“That will do, Ellies,” called Xim to the droids. “Cease your work for the next thirty minutes. Stand down
and await further instructions.” Xim moved to the center of the room and John and Visely followed. One
of the doors at the side of the cargo bay opened and Silvermane, flanked by the seven veterans of the
Clone Wars, entered.
Nervous waves undulated within John’s stomach as he watched the red-armored men enter. The music
of the Force resonated around his heart, preparing the young man for action.
“Silvermane, timely as ever. And you have the new recruits. Wonderful!” called Xim.
As soon as Erragal entered the hold he made an aggressively direct line for John. John watched him
approach, and reading his body language, imperceptibly squared his shoulders and adjusted his footing.
Erragal’s pace was so quick, his brothers were caught flat-footed for a few moments before they
comprehend that he was assertively heading toward the Jedi Padawan they had been ordered to
execute five years earlier. They started to pick up their pace, but to no avail; Erragal made it to John
first. He stopped short and stood face-to-face with him. The captain of the 276th clone battalion
extended his hand.
“No hard feelings, kid. You got quite the punch there,” said the clone, in his best Corellian accent.
Marduk quickly caught up to Erragal and put his hand on his shoulder, thinking he was about to break up
a fight, but swiftly realized Erragal was offering his hand and not his fist. He chuckled, and without
thinking blurted, “Yeah, kid, you move as fast as a Jedi.”
Everyone paused and the room went silent. Silvermane’s mouth opened a little and he squinted at
Marduk. Visely and Xim looked at John.
John smirked. He looked down at Erragal’s extended hand and let it hang, empty.
“What do you know about Jedi?” John asked. He finally extended his own and the two men gripped
hands.
“Nothing, kid, we’ve just heard stories. A figure of speech is all he means.” responded Marduk.
At six-foot-five, John had grown a full head in the last half-decade, and now looked down at the man
behind the armored regalia. Their hands remained in each other’s grip for longer than was customary.
Xim took a pace away from Doctor Visely and bellowed, breaking the growing tension, “Attention! All
men form up! Form two equal lines facing each other, ten-foot distance. Silvermane, you stand here,”
Xim pointed to a spot on the floor. “George next to him, then Finnbar, and then the doctor, and then
John, and finally you.” Xim pointed at Erragal, “You stand next to John there. The remaining six men,
choose a man, stand ten feet away, and face him.”
Everyone did as Xim ordered, and in a moment the two lines had been formed. Xim stood at the center.

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“Silvermane?” he called.
“Yes, Capt’n?”
“From where did you find these men?”
“Corellia, sir”
“And how did your paths cross?”
“They replied to one of me soldiers of fortune ads.”
“Hmm. Good. I see the old ways still work. And what do you know about them?” Xim paced up the line
and examined each man’s chest tag.
“That they’re mercs, but why don’t ye ask ‘em yerself, Capt’n. They got voices.”
“Which one is the leader?”
“The one on the end there, Capt’n, standing next to the kid.” Xim approached Erragal and stood before
him. They were of equal height. He read his chest plate.
“Bones, eh? Is my first mate correct? Are you the leader of this outfit?”
“Yes sir.”
“And what outfit would that be?”
“Nothing formally named, Captain. We’re just mercs for hire. But my guess is that you’d like our
curriculum vitae, as it were.”
“Correct.”
“Well, I and my compatriots here are from Corellia. We fought as hired guns during the Clone Wars and
did a tour on Onderon for the Resistance. We ran with Churhee’s Riflemen for a while, pursed lots of
bounties, and then Silvermane found us. Now we’re here, running with you—the Dread Pirate Xim—
hunting ancient artifacts.”
“Corellian? From where?” Xim ignored Erragal’s attempt at ingratiation.
“Outside Bella Vista.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Not much there.”
“Take your helmets off, so I can see your faces.” The six men on the opposite line turned to look at their
leader. The command hung in the air, but after a long moment Erragal made no movement to remove
his helmet.
“Your helmet, sir,” ordered Xim again.
There was a further pause.
“You go first,” Erragal replied.

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Xim took a moment to absorb Erragal’s quip. The Dread Pirate broke away from the subtle confrontation
and shifted a few feet over to stand in front of John. Looking the young man in the eyes he replied, “The
Dread Pirate Xim has never removed his mask in front of another, and never will.” John stared intently
into the never changing visage, trying to look past the two black holes to the man behind the mask.
Still standing in his appointed position, Erragal asked, “A follower of some code, then?”
Xim stepped back in front of Erragal, where the two masked men re-engaged in their contest.
“I follow a particular way. You?”
“Circumstances, I guess. We all have lines we won’t cross.”
“I suppose we do.”
“I guess you can say we are wearing our identities already then, are we not?”
“I can agree with that.”
The two men stood before each other for a few more breathless moments, then Xim finally turned and
made his way to the table that George had set up.
“Break ranks and follow me. Pepper yourselves around.” Xim placed himself at the head of the war desk
before an embedded console. At the center was the head of the B2 commando droid from his quarters.
It was wired into a holoprojector.
“Silvermane, did you give these men the particulars of our quest?”
“Not too much detail, Capt’n. Just that we’re headin’ inta Wild Space for some ancient artifact hunt. I
was foggy on some o’ the particulars meself.”
“Of course. To be clear, gentlemen, you will be paid for your efforts, recovery of artifacts or not. Did you
all agree to the salary quoted by Silvermane?”
“A one-hundred-eighty-day rotation and two thousand credits a stretch, each, is what we agreed to,”
answered Erragal.
“Less room and board, which should work out to fifteen hundred credits a stretch,” replied Xim. Erragal
nodded approvingly.
“Seems reasonable,” he replied.
“I have your contract here,” Xim held up a datapad. “If we recover anything of worth, you are all entitled
to one percent of its value, each, to be paid upon the selling of any items I don’t want to keep for
myself. And trust me, we will off-load almost everything we recover.” The clones slowly nodded in
agreement.
“So, where are we going and what are we looking for?” inquired Marduk.
“The million-credit question, sailor. Allow me to answer.” Xim pressed some buttons on his console and
the holoprojector lit up with an image of Darth Hevel—the same one Doctor Visely had shown John back
at the inn.

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“This here is Darth Hevel. She was an ancient Sith Lord who I believe recovered the Treasure Horde of
Xim the Despot. That is what we are searching for.” Xim paused a moment to allow the crew to absorb
what he’d said.
“You mean, that old fairytale about Xim and the Queen of Ranroon, and all that…make-believe?” asked
Sargon.
“No fairytale, no make-believe…” Xim dipped forward slightly and read his chest plate, “Solan. By
Solomon’s beard it’s all real. This is what we’re going to recover.” The clones looked at each other.
Erragal nodded and looked back at Xim at the head of the table.
“We are following a treasure map of sorts. We will travel at sublight into Wild Space. Our destination is
the temple of Darth Hevel. Its whereabouts are unknown, but I believe it’s where the treasure lies.
Because there is no hyperspace route to our destination, our journey may take weeks or even months.
My navigator, an FEG-series pilot droid, will calculate jumps to lightspeed periodically, as data sets and
nav-calculations warrant, to speed our progress, but be warned, we will be aboard the Fairwind and
sailing on the high seas of space for some time. The bad news is that there is more bad news: risky
lightspeed jumps are not even the most dangerous aspect of our quest. The possibility of dying on this
journey is real, so, to that end, if any man would like to remove himself from this quest, let him speak
now, and before we get to our next destination, which I will address in a moment, I will give him an
opportunity to disembark.” Xim looked at John and addressed him directly.
“John, you are the only man here who has not agreed, either directly or tacitly, to this journey. You were
pulled among our rabble by a series of circumstances somewhat beyond your control. I mean what I’m
about to say to you, young man: You don’t have to come with us. You give the word and I’ll let you off
at a safe port.”
All eyes turned to John. The young man straightened his posture and raised his chin, his blue eyes
examining the men looking at him.
“That won’t be necessary, Captain. Where Doctor Visely goes, I go.” Doctor Visely smiled and put his
hand on John’s shoulder.
“Zat’s mein junge,” he said with a smile.
“Now that that’s settled, let’s continue. Turn your attention to the head of this B2 commando droid. I
will project the last few moments of this droid’s life.”
Xim pressed more buttons. The lights in the cargo bay dimmed and the holoprojector lit up. Red light
flooded the hold. A recording began, projected over the middle of the table. On the right of the
projection were several B2-commando droids that were firing into a dense fog. The droids looked to be
within a warren of large, arching brambles covered in thorns. John studied the scene and tried to place
the setting but was unable to do so. Suddenly, two lightsabers entered from the left and the young
Jedi’s eyes went wide in astonishment, wondering which Jedi master was the wielder of the blades. The
point-of-view of the projecting droid side-stepped to the left and began firing into the fog. The fully
metallic body of General Grievous entered the scene and he gave a flourish of his sabers. John stepped
back a little at the sight of his old enemy. Without warning, pouring out of the dense fog, came a horde
of running corpses. Here Xim paused the projection.
“This B2 commando droid was recovered from Iego, our next destination. It was originally under the
command of General Grievous during the Clone Wars and was destroyed on the planet Dathomir. Here
we can see its last moments battling, alongside its commander, a swarm of zombies—reanimated

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corpses of what were originally known as the Nightsisters of Dathomir, a group of Sith occultists and
devotees to what is known as the dark side of the Force. Here is another example of Sith magik,
gentlemen, and what we will most likely encounter at the end of our journey.”
“Zombies?” said Erragal.
“Precisely,” replied Xim. “The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many unnatural abilities; Hevel’s
magik just another example in a string of many.”
The clones all folded their arms in unison and began to look around the table. They turned their
attention toward Silvermane.
“Did you know about this?” asked Ky to the Togorian. The wolf-man put up his hands defensively.
“First I’m hearin’ of it. As I told ye all when we first met, I thought it might be a militia or somethin’.”
“We’ve only just engaged with the footage, gentlemen, your attention.” Xim started the recording again.
“The most important part is coming.”
The zombies poured out from the fog and began to swarm the commando droids. The droids fired into
the zombie’s bodies but to no avail—the undead continued their assault. The zombies fiercely leaped
onto the droids and began to pull at their heads, eventually tearing them from their bodies. The B2
droid whose memory was being projected began to back away, and one of its shots managed to blast
through the bony neck of one of the zombies. Its head toppled off its shoulders and its lifeless body fell
to the ground.
“Head shots only.” Echoed out of the voice of the B2 commando droid through the recording. The droid
then panned right to General Grievous who had four zombies swarming over him. Heeding the droid’s
command, Grievous shucked the zombies off his back and swung his sabers, decapitating his assailants.
Abruptly, a zombie jumped into the B2 droid’s field of vision, and the scene quickly ended. Xim turned
up the lights.
“An illuminating piece of found footage, to say the least,” said Xim.
“You mean to say we’re going to have to fight an army of the undead to recover the treasure?” asked
Marduk.
“Precisely,” replied Xim.
Ky blew a low whistle. “Not like the old days, eh boys?”
“Well,” said Erragal “that’s a lot to take in.” He broke from his spot around the table and went to stand
next to his brothers. “How many will we be going up against?”
“At this point, I would assume the worst; but it could be a few to a few thousand.”
Erragal nodded. “I’m glad you think so highly of me and my men, Captain, but we’re only seven veterans
of various battles around the galaxy. I’m not sure all of us here can take down a horde of undead
warriors.”
“Well, Bones, as a matter of fact, we are going to need some hard men such as you and your crew, but
we will not be alone.” Xim moved to his wrist comm and pushed a button. The ceilings and the walls of
the cargo hold mechanically opened. Fifty droidekas rolled out from the walls, while two rows of B2
battle droids, all perfectly placed within their engineered droid carriers, descended from the rafters.

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The clones all instinctively stepped back, Erragal pushing his brothers behind him.
“That’s a lot of battle droids,” said Martu.
“It’s not even half our strength. Nym’s assault on the Fairwind scrapped a large portion of my fighting
force, but before we ship off to Mytus VII, we’ll be heading to Iego to replenish our army. But, to your
point, Bones, we’ll be well armed. As long as we aim for the head and neck, I think we stand a chance.
Droids tend to fall quickly in battle, which is why I needed some wily veterans to pad our forces. You up
for the challenge?”
“Well, if treasure and riches lay beyond this army of the undead, then you’ve got your men, Captain
Xim.” Erragal turned to look at Silvermane. “We’re all in.”

Like the doors to Xim quarters below deck, the door to the Fairwind’s bridge was ornately decorated. It
reminded John of the doors to the Admiral Webbon Inn, but the artistry of Xim’s door was more
masterful. Like the hull of the ship, the door was carved from wroshyr wood, and he examined the lintel
before he entered. The carved scene was of Xim standing on top of a large Hutt. The massive wyrm was
sprawled out on his back, his short arms spread out in a defeated posture. Xim was pulling apart the
chains of slaves who were encircled around the combatants, and the chain Xim was splitting was linked
to each of the figures, either around their ankle or neck. The newly freed people had their arms raised in
victory.
Though John found the vainglory of the scene amusing, he still couldn’t help but be impressed.
As he moved closer to the door it slid open into the wall with a slight hiss, revealing the ancient galleon’s
command center.
“John,” called Xim. “Come in, young man.”
Like Xim’s quarters, the bridge was large, but this room was curved into a semi-circle at the rear, where
multiple B1 battle droids manned data panels. The high ceilings in this chamber were also arched and
cherry wood paneling covered the walls. The front viewscreen of the bridge looked out into space; the
main wall was a multi-panel high window. John could see they were approaching a rose-colored planet
surrounded by thousands of moons, and he assumed they had made it to the destination Xim had
mentioned at their war room briefing.
“We have made it to Iego. Come, John, stand next to me.”
Xim was standing before a large, eight-spoked helm, gently steering the ship toward the planet’s
surface. To his left, the pilot droid Fiji was sitting at a desk console, and to his right was another desk
console piloted by a B1 battle droid.
As John crossed the bridge, he saw more curio cabinets along the walls and a massive aquarium
populated with all sorts of exotic marine life.
Sitting some distance behind the helm was a large, wooden executive desk, brass trim running along its
drawers and edges, and further behind the desk was the captain’s chair, a swiveling leather throne with
data panels embedded in its high arms.
“John, I would like you and Doctor Visely to accompany me to the plant’s surface. I’d like to introduce
you to my contact there.”

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“Of course, Captain. What is this place?”
“Today it is a small droid foundry operated by a young man, similar in age to you, named Jaybo Hood.
But during the Clone Wars, it was controlled by the Confederacy. We’re here because when they
abandoned it, they left behind hundreds of thousands of inoperative battle droids. At the peak of the
war there was some sort of ornately designed web of lasers that prevented the inhabitants from leaving,
but it has since been deactivated. Jaybo Hood is probably the best droid engineer in the galaxy, but
don’t tell George I said that.”
Xim pressed a button on his wrist comm. His voice echoed through the loudspeakers of the ship. “Doctor
Visely to the cargo Bay. Silvermane to the bridge.”
Xim brought his attention back to John.
“Jaybo has spent the last few months reconstructing what will be our vanguard. But more about him in a
moment, I want you to take the helm, John, as we wait for Silvermane.”
“Take the helm?”
“Yes. Who knows when the Fairwind might need another pilot if things go sideways?” John stepped
closer to Xim as Xim stepped aside from the helm.
“Take the controls, get a sense of how the ship moves through space.”
John stepped before the giant wooden wheel and grabbed a spoke in each hand.
“The base of the helm is on a gimbal to allow you to pitch, yaw, and roll the ship. The wheel turns to
allow you to quickly spin the stern and bow. For a corvette class cruiser, she is extremely responsive.”
John pushed down and to the left, diving the ship into the depth of space and watched as the rose
planet exited the ship’s large viewscreen. The ship’s anti-grav kept the crew firmly rooted to the floor.
“Not too much now.”
“Yeah, I can see what you mean. She’s quite sensitive.”
“She’s armed along all her sides and along the deck. The weaponry is controlled by the droids, but the
most important weapon is here,” he pointed to a button on the wheel. “Her ion cannon is located just
under Lady Unicorn. It’s our most important weapon, as we use it to knock out all power to the ships we
board.”
“Impressive.”
“Indeed.” Xim stepped back before the wheel as Silvermane entered the bridge. He righted the ship’s
direction and brought Iego back into view.
“Givin’ the boy lessons, eh?”
“Yes, Silvermane. You have the bridge. John, Doctor Visely, and I will be back within the hour with our
armed forces. Keep the Fairwind in orbit and await any commands I may send.”
“Aye, Capt’n,” nodded Silvermane.
The two men met Doctor Visely in the cargo hold, and before long the three of them arrived on Iego’s
surface.

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Iego’s pink sky radiated a soft, warm light, but the warmth of the planet was juxtaposed to the dark,
hovering probe droids that greeted the trio as they stepped off the Wolf-Cat’s ramp. At the head of the
motley crew of hovering droids was Jaybo Hood. He had a black beard and wore a dark-brown leather
flight jacket with its high collar flipped up. He sported grease-stained cargo pants and a tool belt, from
which hung various wrenches and tackles. As Xim stepped off his ship, Jaybo approached with his arms
extended in a gregarious greeting, all the while holding a data pad.
“As I live and breathe, the Dread Pirate Xim.”
Xim greeted the droid engineer with a warm handshake.
“Jaybo Hood. I see you have been busy,” Xim indicated to an armada of B1 battle droids perfectly
arranged in a square formation off in the distance.
“For another order. Yours is over there.” He pointed to four large shipping containers standing off to the
side, along with a large Clone Wars era tank parked behind them. “You specifically said no B1s.”

22

“For battle they’re practically useless. And I see you acquired the AT-TE22 I requested.”
“That, dear Dread Pirate,” started Jaybo, as he pointed his hydro spanner at the tank, “took me a lot of
time and trouble. The droid foundries I raided were basically easy, except for your special-order request,
but that monstrosity over there is old Republic tech, and even though it isn’t being used, the Imps are
still protective of their stuff. I’m going to have to charge you double for that.”
“Double, you say? We’ll talk about price in a moment. Which container holds the special order?”
“Yeah, let’s talk about that one.”
“Before we do: introductions. Jaybo, meet John Hawkins and Doctor Victor Visely, the newest members
of my crew.” The three men shook hands. “John may be picking up more orders for me in the future, so I
think it best if you two meet.” After the greetings Xim placed his arm around Jaybo’s shoulder and gently
directed him away from John and the Doctor. The two of them walked toward the containers.
“Jaybo and I will be back,” he called over his shoulder to his compatriots.
John watched the Dread Pirate pull aside the droid engineer to speak privately. Jaybo was showing him
some images on his datapad and the two stood shoulder to shoulder in close quarters. Xim nodded,
pointed to something on the datapad and Jaybo then directed him to a control panel on the front door
of the far container; the one John assumed contained the “special order.” Xim held his wrist comm next
to it, punched in some information, and nodded approvingly. The two men stood conversing for a while
longer, the discussion becoming animated as time went on. Eventually he made his way back to John
and Doctor Visely.

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“Right then, gentlemen, all is worked out. It’s time to ferry our order to the Fairwind. John, you will pilot
the Wolf-Cat and use its magnetic hold to bring our armaments to the cargo bay. The time has come. Let
us make our way into Wild Space.”

The cargo bay of the Fairwind was a bustle of movement and energy.
Once Xim, John, and Doctor Visely made it back from Iego with all their supplies, the crew, directed by
George, took to unloading the cargo containers and organizing the “warbots of Xim” as he called them.
John was impressed with the mechanized militia before him. Five thousand units strong, Xim’s militia
consisted of droidekas, B2 super battle droids and B2 commando droids.
George exited from the back of one of the containers and rolled out a particularly impressive bot on a
dolly. He wheeled it to one of the side data consoles. Pulling some wires out of a bulwark, he plugged
them into the droid’s back.
“I’ve never seen a droid like that before,” John said.
“This one was special order,” replied George, keeping an eye on his work as he spoke to John. “A super
tactical droid. Jaybo’s engineering is a thing of beauty.” John looked to the last remaining cargo
container, which had still to be offloaded. “Was that the special order Xim talked about?”
George looked at John suspiciously and then over to the sealed container. “Yeah, let’s go with that. Xim
mentioned a special order to you?” George furrowed his brow at the young man.
“I just overheard him say something to Jaybo—thought this might be it.”
“Yeah, well, this is it!” he said sharply. “I think the mercs need some help.” He pointed toward Erragal
and his men. “Why don’t you go over there and make yourself useful?”
John nodded, feeling the slight sting of the chastisement, and walked back over to the containers. As he
went over, he watched the LE repair droids modify the AT-TE walker, placing heavy laser cannons into
the troop holds along her sides, the bright sparks of welding debris flying in every direction.
It was only after many hours of labor that Xim finally ordered the crew to their quarters for rest, day and
night being meaningless concepts in the black of space. It was at this time that John and Doctor Visely
got to see their accommodations for the first time. Unlike the mercenary crew lead by Silvermane, John
and Doctor Visely were afforded more comfortable lodgings down the hall from Xim’s suite. John was
placed across from Doctor Visely, and as the two men approached their suites, they noticed schedules
posted to their doors.
“Doc, you see these?”
“Ja, where are you in ze morning?”
“On the bridge, with Xim at zero six hundred.”
“Ze Dread Pirate has taken to you, mein junge.” John looked up with a furrowed brow.
“Should I be worried?”
“I am not certain. He seems like a genuine man. Not at all like what Skynx said.”

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“I agree.” The two men hesitated to walk into their quarters. “I regret running from him back at the inn.”
“Ja, but can you blame us? He came at us very forcefully.”
John laughed a little. “I suppose he did. Where are you in the morning, Doc?”
Visely looked at his schedule. “I am on ze bridge, too.” Once he had told John where he was, he opened
his mouth to say something but hesitated, and then, taking courage, he spoke.
“Johannes, you mentioned ze inn. I wanted to ask you, are you ok, mein junge since… everyzing?”
John smiled a little. “I think you were right, Doc. Back when I first joined you on your ship you said I
needed to get out of there, that I needed some adventure, well, I think you were right!”
“Well zen, good. If you are happy, zen I am happy.”
The two friends then settled into their respective rooms for the night.

The following morning arrived quicker than John had anticipated. A chime rang out through the ship,
awakening its crew, and after having a paltry breakfast in the mess hall while Finnbarr the chef muttered
something about rations, John made his way to the bridge as ordered. Waiting for him was Doctor Visely
and the Dread Pirate Xim, the Pirate Lord standing as a great watchman before his large wooden helm,
contemplating the depth of space before him. Doctor Visely was standing over Fiji, who was dutifully
sitting at the helm next to the masked Mandalorian. And standing behind Xim’s executive desk posterior
to them all, was the newly operational super tactical droid.
“Good morning, John,” greeted Xim. “Take a seat on the console to my right. Run through a systems
check and keep your eyes sharp for any anomalies that may appear on the screen before you.”
Dutifully completing the request, John slid into the assigned ensign’s seat and ran his eyes quickly over
the data readouts.
“AH-AB, please come over and introduce yourself.”
The super tactical droid walked out from behind the desk, its servo motors churning out a mechanical
sound, and introduced itself to John and Doctor Visely.
“Greetings. I am A-H-A-B,” the droid spoke in a deep and mechanical tone. “Captain Xim has ordered
that you all refer to me as Ahab. I will be working with you all to calculate the route to our destination.”
“Very good, Ahab. You may resume your post.” The super tactical droid marched back to his station
standing behind the Captain’s desk.
“John, what do you read?”
“Readouts are all clear, Captain. If I may ask, where are we?”
“We’re in the Corporate Sector, at Mytus VII, on the outer rim of Wild Space.” The Dread Pirate turned
to look at John. “Here be dragons, young man.” John could almost detect a smile in his voice, if that
were possible.
“Have we figured out our trajectory yet?” he asked.

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“Not yet. Ahab should help us with that. With him and Fiji, and even Doctor Visely’s little astromech,
combined with the vast knowledge of the Fairwind’s navcomputer, we should be able to plot a course to
Penweld’s voxyn constellation.”
“But make sure to keep a sharp eye out for ze Corporate Sector Auzority. We don’t need anyone from ze
penal colony zinking ve are up to trouble.”
“Well said, Doctor,” agreed Xim. “Fiji set a course to situate the Fairwind at the very southern tip of the
planet. Let’s keep our signal masked by the magnetic field.”
Once the course was set, Xim began to sail the great ship to Mytus VII’s south pole, the golden galleon
streaking through the black of space, a trail of blue afterburn following in its path.
Like in the cargo hold, George had placed a holoprojector on Xim’s executive desk.
“Droids to the table,” commanded Xim. John and Doctor Visely followed.
Ahab, Fiji and Arby circled around the table, and Fiji began to plug the astromech and the super tactical
droid into the holoprojector. The two droids’ lights began to blink in asymmetric patterns as they started
to run through calculations. Fiji plugged himself into the projector as well, and in unison he and Ahab
turned their photoreceptors to focus on the Fairwinds’s forward window. The tactical and pilot droids
analyzed the star-filled data from the ship’s navcomputers along with what they observed in space.
Xim spread Penweld’s journal over the surface of the desk, and he and Visely began pouring over it.
Slowly, minute by minute, with the blue light of the projection casting a warm glow over the ancient
manuscript, the holoprojector filled-in with star field data.
“Data collection complete,” said Ahab. “Data analysis in progress.” The tactical droid walked over to the
manuscript. His eyes ran over it, his photoreceptors humming whirring noises as his eyes focused in and
out.
Turning to the holoprojector he said, “Star map magnify.” Hovering over the captain’s desk, the blue star
map floated in three dimensions. Their current location was glowing in the bottom corner. Hundreds of
lines pointed in various directions into the unknown regions.
“There are hundreds of possibilities. Constellation mapping is more of an art than a science; but I have
calculated sixteen statistically viable routes from our current location that end at a constellation that
most mathematically fits the description from the primary source data,” said Ahab. “Each of the sixteen
routes has roughly the same probability of success as the other. But placing them in numerical order, I
recommend this route.” Ahab highlighted one of the lines and it glowed brighter than the others.
Xim crossed his arm across his chest and rested his hand beneath his masked chin.
“And what is the probability of this route being successful, Ahab?”
“My calculations indicate a twelve percent chance, Captain.”
“Twelve!?” exclaimed Xim. He put his hands on his hips and walked closer to the map. “By Solomon’s
beard! I thought we’d have better numbers than that!”
John stepped closer to the desk as well and scrutinized the highlighted route. A light in the corner of his
eye caught his attention, and he looked over at Xim’s sheathed sword. A soft red light began to emanate
from the hilt.

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“Boy… boy”
An ethereally monstrous voice called. It sounded dark and its words reverberated with a ghastly
resonance.

“Focus… focus”
John turned his attention away from the glowing hilt and to the holographic star map. Compelled to
heed the voice’s authority, he took a deep breath and focused on the routes. The music of the Force
began to fill him.

“The path… path. See it…see it. Come to me…to me.”

But then another voice called.
“John.”
It was the voice of his father. Suddenly an image of a bright green gem flashed in his mind’s eye. It was
octahedron in shape: a gem shaped with a pyramid at the top and a pyramid at the bottom.
“See the path,” his father said. And John could see a glowing crack running along the surface of the gem.
John narrowed his eyes, and using his gift in the Force, the gift that allowed him to spot fellow
Padawans’ weaknesses during their saber duels as well as the weak points in the rocks on Llanic, he sunk
into the possibilities before him and perceived the proper path.
His heart sang and his mind expelled all distractions. In the depths of his consciousness, he could see the
map, and one route glowed a bright green.
“I see it, Father,” he whispered.
“There!” John said, opening his eyes. “The path is there,” he said with authority. He pointed to one of
the highlighted trails, but it was not one of the sixteen Ahab had emphasized.
“Unlikely,” responded Ahab. “This route is too far out, and data is…unclear.”
John turned to Xim and, pointing directly to the route, he said, “This is the way.”
Xim stepped closer to John and examined the route himself. The soft blue light from the hologram
reflected gently off his masked face as he read the numbers underneath it.
“Ahab is right, John. This path is very far out. Are you sure?”
“On my life, Captain Xim. This is the path we should follow.” Xim was taken aback by John’s certainty.
He turned to look at Doctor Visely. Doctor Visely shrugged his shoulders.
“Ze boy, he seems assured,” he said. “After all, he did make ze constellation discovery at Elom.”
“Interesting,” responded Xim. “It seems I have a choice to make. Magic or science?” Xim folded his arms
behind his back, kept his focus on the floor, and slowly paced to the helm. He looked up and stared out
the Fairwind’s front viewscreen, his gaze greeted by the twinkling stars. He placed both hands on his
large, wooden wheel and nodded imperceptibly.

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“Fiji,” he called, “to your station. Set our route for sublight travel following the path indicated by John.
Unfurl the solar sails and give us a quick thruster push to set us on our way. Everyone else to your
stations.”
The crew obeyed, and Fiji ran his droid digits over his station’s controls.
The ancient Gree sails splendidly extended from their slots along the Fairwind’s upper masts. As soon as
they were spread out, tachyon streams and supralight emissions billowed within them, propelling the
golden galleon through the black seas of space.
“Here be dragons,” murmured the Pirate Lord as he and his dread pirate crew sailed off into the
unknown.

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 Chapter 7
Dreams, Fights, and Monsters
The sweet chirping of birds brought John’s attention to the things above him. The blueness of the sky
struck him as he looked up into the trees. He watched the darting black of the bird’s shadows as they
flew in juxtaposition to the brightness of the day.
The earthy smell of pine wafted through the air, and John took in the tall, coniferous trees surrounding
him. He looked around and realized he stood in a clearing, horse-shoed by a dense forest. He was high
up on a cliff’s edge and off in the distance a black storm was rolling in.
Standing at the edge of the cliff were Doctor Visely and the Dread Pirate Xim, but a glimmering-bright
and ghostly light surrounded them. They smiled and waved at John. Xim stood with his helmet off,
holding it at his side. John studied the Dread Pirate’s face: his eyes were a piercing blue, and his jaw was
square with a dimple in his chin. He had straight teeth and his eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled.
His short, silver hair was styled neatly to the side. John approached his two friends and tried to speak to
them but was unable.
Suddenly, a deep and rumbling howl roared out from the bush and the birds scattered into the blue.
John turned away from the cliff and his friends to face the booming threat coming from the edge of the
tree line. Tearing out of the woods came a thunderous Silvermane; he charged, massive in size and
dripping saliva from his jowls. With him were a company of Imperial stormtroopers and they began to
fire at John.
Time seemed to slow. John shouted to his friends, “Get behind me!” and with a mighty push of the
Force, John threw the stormtroopers back. But Silvermane was unaffected by his mystical assault. The
gigantic Togorian rushed forward and buried his claws in John’s shoulders. John grabbed two tufts of
Silvermane’s chest fur, and throwing his weight backward, kicked his foot into the Togorian’s gut. He
attempted to fling the charging beast over him, but Silvermane’s claws held fast, and the two tumbled
over the cliff’s edge.
John woke up in a cold sweat yelling and swatting at the air around him. He was tangled in his bed
sheets. He quickly realized he was in his cabin and had awakened from another bad dream. His heart
was pounding, and he sat up in bed to catch his breath. Slowly, he rubbed his face and felt the long
scruff of his beard.
His stomach rumbled. It had been weeks since he had a full meal.
Groggily making his way to his refresher, he studied his face in the mirror. It was gaunt, and he buried
his fingers beneath his beard to scratch his face. He filled his sink with warm water, a luxury still
afforded on the Fairwind, and prepared his shaving kit. He washed his face and hands, and taking his
time, shaved his beard. His change in appearance lifted his spirit.
It had been six months since they had embarked on their voyage into Wild Space, and John’s navigation
had proven correct. The Fairwind and her crew had made it to the voxyn constellation a few weeks after
they had pushed off from Mytus VII. From there John had read Ahab’s readouts and predictions, and
using his gift in the Force, had successfully guided them through the unknown. Penweld’s journal
proved a reliable chart and shepherded them through the constellations correctly. The crew had made it
all the way from the voxyn constellation to the starweird constellation, with the silan cluster their final
destination. As Xim had promised, they dared small and extremely tense hyperspace jumps, each time

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the crew breathing a sigh of relief when they didn’t fly directly into a star or bounce off an asteroid. But
mostly the golden Fairwind sailed at sublight, her solar sails swaying ceremoniously through the black of
space, sometimes joined by pods of wild purrgils.
Xim was a fastidious captain, and within a few hours of their voyage beginning he had assigned jobs and
duties to all the crew members. Each day the crew worked through a rotation of assigned chores:
everything from meal preparation with Finbarr, to cleaning and polishing the Fairwind’s deck and halls
with the droids, to engine and hyperdrive repair with George.
As for John, Xim assigned him cleaning duties in the morning with the maintenance droids, and then
would order the young man to report to the bridge by midday. While on the bridge John stayed in the
ensign’s desk and would help Fiji navigate the Fairwind through space. He would periodically take the
helm under Xim’s watchful eye.
In the evening, John and Doctor Visely took their supper with Xim in his quarters, and there, over glasses
of wine, the three men would discuss philosophy, history and religion. It was here that John first learned
about The Glorious Truth, an autobiographical work from the ancient past about Solomon of Cathar;
history’s redemptive Messiah and The Lord of the Force, as Xim called him. John had never encountered
an alternate explanation for the Force before. All history and philosophy he learned as a boy at the
Temple was proffered through the lens of the Jedi Order and their understanding of the Force. Xim
provided religious instruction about the Cathar, their understanding of themselves as the chosen people
of the universe, and how their main religious text, The Library, was one unified story which led to the
death and resurrection of Solomon and the salvation of the universe.
StarCrow the dragon was an important character in this story, and after reading through The Library and
The Glorious Truth, John had a clearer understanding of how the fresco at Elom factored into their
quest.
But as time went on, the good wine and the fine meals came to a stop and Finnbarr became the least
popular person on the ship. The embattled Mon Calamari chef had not properly accounted for the extra
crew members and had therefore miscalculated the amount of food required for such a long voyage.
Under normal circumstances such a miscalculation was not so dire, as a ship sailing through the known
galaxy could pull into a port and restock supplies. But such was not the case in the barren and uncharted
territory of Wild Space. For months Fiji and Ahab kept their instruments tuned for a planet upon their
path that supported life, where Xim could rally a hunting or fishing expedition; but no such luck had
befallen the adventurers. For weeks on end, they sailed past barren planets, asteroids, and gas giants,
the lush greenery of life never once presenting itself to the pioneers.
The crew was on week four of rations and the patience of the hungry men had vanished.
After shaving his face, John dressed himself and left his room. He noticed a note slipped under his door,
and reading Xim’s words, he forewent the mess hall and made his way straight to the bridge. As always,
the Dread Pirate Xim stood before his helm, keeping watch and commanding his ancient galleon.
“Finnbarr has some porridge in the mess hall,” Xim said to the young man.
“Really? I thought we were out?”
“He found a bag of oats. Head there now and take a bowl. It should be enough to last us a day or two
while we keep an eye out for land. And while you’re there mop the floor. We have been lacking in our
cleaning duties recently. Hunger is no excuse to let our standard of cleanliness slip.”

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John obeyed Xim’s command and headed to the mess hall. As he approached, the door slid open and
Silvermane’s mercenary crew exited. They pushed past John, shouldering and elbowing their way by
him.
“Watch it, kid,” barked Marduk. Erragal threw an aggressive shoulder. Whatever good will was extended
months ago had disappeared with the food. John absorbed their belligerent stampede, and once they
had flowed past him, he entered the mess hall on his own.
Finnbarr was in the kitchen and had three small bowls at the ready on the cafeteria service window
counter. John grabbed his cold oats, wolfed them down, and once he was done, made his way to the
supply closet to begin his cleaning duties.
Midway through his job, as he pulled the mop from the warm soapy water and ran its head over the
floor, Silvermane crashed into the hall.
“Where’s the food!?” he yelled. “Finnbarr, gimme what’s left!” Silvermane stomped his way to
Finnbarr’s service window and grabbed the last two bowls.
“One’s for the Captain!” shouted the Mon Calamari.
“Shut yer yap, ye stinkin’ fish.” As Silvermane tramped his way out with the two bowls in hand, he
locked eyes with John. “What are ye lookin’ at, boy?”
“A dirty thief.”
Silvermane stopped dead in his tracks. “What’d you say?” Just then the clones reentered the mess hall.
“You heard me.”
Silvermane’s fur prickled on end and rippled up his spine. “You sure, boy?” he growled.
“If you put the Captain’s bowl back now, wolf-man, you’ll make it to your room with your teeth intact.”
“Ho-ho!” Erregal laughed. “You going to let the whelp speak to you like that?” The rest of the clones
began to chortle. “The Margrave of Togoria would not abide such disrespect!”
Silvermane’s ears began to twitch. As calmly as he could, he placed the two bowls down on a table.
“Maybe we don’t need ye as much as I thought,” he began. “Time to see what yer really made of, boy.”
Howling madly, Silvermane leaped the distance between him and John, but, anticipating the attack, John
had already unscrewed the mop handle from the head. Side-stepping the assault, he bashed Silvermane
across the face as he flew at him. Silvermane crashed into the wall, but quickly got up and was about to
jump again when Xim entered.
“Silvermane!” he bellowed. “Stand down!” The Togorian stopped.
“I’ll kill him, Capt’n,” he howled, foaming at the mouth, “I’ll kill him!”
“You’ll do no such thing! Stand down!” Silvermane’s chest heaved up and down and he began to pace
up the floor. His eyes were wide and wild.
“Let me at ‘im, Capt’n…. naught but thirty seconds…” Silvermane’s chest continued to heave.
“Fine,” said Xim. His agreement caught everyone off guard. “Down in the cargo bay in twenty minutes.
Settle it like men. I’ll get a ring set up and provide the shock-boxing gloves.” He calmly walked over to

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his bowl of food and grabbed it. He pressed some buttons on his wrist comm. “All crew except Fiji to the
cargo bay in twenty minutes. It’s fight night.”
After Xim’s command, Silvermane exited the mess hall and practically ran to the cargo bay. The clones
followed closely behind him.
“This could go well for us,” Erragal commented to Marduk as they ran behind the Togorian, following
the wild beast down the Fairwind’s halls. Marduk turned to his captain.
“Not likely. You know what the boy’s capable of.”
“I think you overestimate him. That Togorian is wild right now. This could solve our biggest problem.”
Everyone poured out of the room and John stood in the mess hall alone. Like Silvermane he was raging,
but his tempest was an internal one. His stomach churned with a deadly mix of bile, hunger, and a desire
for violence. Following closely after the riled mob of pirates, he made his way down to the cargo bay as
well.
Doctor Visely was there to immediately accost him as he entered. He got in John’s way and put his
hands on his chest to slow the young man down.
“Johannes, don’t do zis, just apologize to ze beast. He is a very strong savage. Ze hunger has got
everyone’s blood up! You’ll be hurt, mein junge!”
“I’ll be all right, Doc, you’ll see.”
Doctor Visely turned to Xim, “Xim, stop zis right now I say!”
John kept his eyes focused on Silvermane as he entered the hold. The Togorian was waiting for him and
pacing through the circle. True to his word, Xim had formed a ring in the cargo bay. It was a ring of B2
battle droids forming a circular wall, and as John approached, two moved aside to let him in. On the
floor was a pair of shock-boxing gloves. John removed his shirt, exposing his defined chest and stomach
muscles, and strapped on the leather and metal mitts. Standing in the center was Ahab, performing the
duties of referee.
Xim had raised the ray shield and opened the cargo bay door, exposing the stars behind the combatants
as the fight’s backdrop. The Dread Pirate stood on the cantilevered deck above and spoke into the ship’s
loudspeakers.
“There will be no rounds, no time, no breaks. Last man standing wins.” The clones cheered and called
out “Get ‘im, Silvermane” and “Rip his head off!”
“Training for the Margrave challenge!” hollard Erragal as he raised his fist in the air. Silvermane turned
and shot the clone a look.
“Shut yer yap, ye stupid merc!” he growled through gritted teeth.
Xim took note of the tense exchange.
John bounced on his feet at the circle’s edge, his arms were up protecting the sides of his face. The B2
battle droids stood behind him, expressionless centurions watching the action.
“Fight,” said Ahab in a mechanical tone.

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Silvermane leaped the distance through the ring. John tried to dodge, but the Togorian moved fast. He
drop-kicked the young man and smashed the balls of his feet into John’s chest, his claws clipping John’s
chin and drawing blood. John bounced up and followed with a leaping left hook that landed just under
Silvermane’s armpit. The shocks reverberated through Silvermane’s chest, and he stumbled back.
John performed a leap of his own and brought a flying knee under Silvermane’s jaw. A crack and a grunt
of pain flew out of the massive wolf-man, and he fell to the floor, a lone arm propping him up,
preventing him from completely falling over. Immediately detecting the moment’s shatterpoint, John
pushed his advantage and ripped out a momentous kick aimed at Silvermane’s leg. But the big Togorian
swiftly spun away from John’s attack and flung out his own backhand against the oncoming assault.
John was knocked off balance and fell to the floor. Seeing his own advantage, Silvermane leaped onto
the prostrate lad and quickly clasped his massive paws around his throat. He lifted him into the air and
began to squeeze.
“Where’s your magic now, boy?” he mocked through gritted teeth. He then whispered to the youth “I’ll
be King of Togoria when I’m done with you.”
John’s face began to turn red and then blue.
“Enough, Silvermane!” shouted Visely. “You’ve won! Let ze boy go!”
John’s body went limp.
“Fight’s over!” yelled Xim. Silvermane kept the boy suspended in the air.
“Silvermane! Enough!” the captain yelled.
The Togorian looked over his shoulder at the Dread Pirate standing above on his catwalk and smirked.
“Aye, Capt’n.” He dropped John to the floor and the boy landed awkwardly.
Doctor Visely rushed in.
“Water!” he yelled. “Someone get me some water!” George trundled over to Visely with a silver bucket
of water.
“Here, mein junge, drink, drink.” John opened his eyes and he began to cough, air rushing into his lungs.
He raised the bucket to his mouth and began to gulp down the cold liquid.
“He was fast, Doc…” began the youth, “faster than I…”
“Land, ho!” echoed Fiji’s voice over the loudspeakers. “Land, ho!” he said again. Everyone looked up at
the amplifiers.
Xim scaled down from the cantilevered deck and spoke into his wrist comm. “Report, Fiji.”
“Scanners have detected a planet along our path. It is still many parsecs out, but it looks as though it has
a breathable atmosphere and life.”
The clones cheered.
“Wonderful news, Fiji.” Xim started issuing commands. “Doctor, escort John to my quarters and get him
cleaned up.” He walked through the circle of battle droids to where Silvermane stood at the center,

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hands on hips looking cocky as ever. “Droids dismissed, back to your containers. Silvermane, take the
mercenary crew and begin to collect your gear for landfall.”
“Attention crew,” started Xim over the comm system, “it looks like meat is back on the menu!”

The planet Fiji detected was a short hyperspace jump away. Ahab calculated a hyperspace route and
predicted that the jump could be made with a sixty-eight percent chance of success. Knowing starvation
was the other thirty-two percent if they didn’t take the risk, Xim ordered the jump, and after nearly two
days in hyperspace, the Fairwind came out of lightspeed in orbit of the unnamed planet.
Xim stood before the two Wolf-Cats and addressed the assembled crew.
“Fiji detects copious amounts of life-forms. We’re going to be sending down two expeditions to both
hemispheres of the planet. Silvermane, you’ll take the mercenary crew to the grassy plains and see if
antlered game can be found. Myself, John, and Doctor Visely will head to the high country and look for
the same. George and Finnbarr will stay onboard the Fairwind. I’ve loaded each Wolf-Cat with hunting
rifles and tackle for camp, but obviously no food. I suggest you make a quick kill and start a fire to fill
your bellies.” Xim turned up the ramp to his Wolf-Cat.
“Oh, and keep a sharp eye out for predators.”
The Wolf-Cat’s engines ignited in a blast of blue fire, and the two ships poured forth from the cargo hold
to the planet’s surface. Silvermane and his crew broke north while Xim, John, and Doctor Visely broke
south.
The Wolf-Cat One penetrated the atmosphere of the lush planet and descended through the firmament.
A trail of white condensation followed in the passenger vessel’s wake, and before long Xim was
skimming over the green, deciduous treetops looking for a suitable place to land. He analyzed the
topographical terrain scan and found what he was looking for.
“There, scanners have picked up what looks like a lush river valley. There will be all sorts of game there.”
The Wolf-Cat hovered over a clearing of trees and folded out its landing pads, where Xim then expertly
landed his craft.
The bright morning sun greeted the three adventurers as they descended the ramp. Each had a hunting
rifle slung over his back and carried a large, square, metal briefcase. Under Xim’s orders they set up the
encampment just short of the ramp, and before long the men had foraged for wood and started a fire.
The Wolf-Cat sat at the mouth of a river valley with a high-walled ravine that gradually sloped upward
on either side. A small, silky stream gracefully spun next to them, rippling softly in a song of life.
Xim’s comms crackled to life.
“We’ve established camp, Capt’n,” said Silvermane. “What are our time parameters?”
“Let’s give ourselves three days maximum, Silvermane, or whenever you fill your hold with game,
whichever comes first.”
“Aye, Lord Xim. Silvermane out.” Xim raised his macrobionoculars to his masked eyes and searched the
top of the hill that reared before them.

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“Here, John, what do you see?” Xim handed John the macrobinoculars. John spied what looked like a
group of four-legged herbivores walking along the ravine’s edge. They had short white hair and cloven
hooves.
“They look like mesa goats, but the racks are massive.”
“Indeed, not long and pointy like the mesa, but thick and round.” John handed the binoculars to Doctor
Visely.
“Maybe zhey use zem to ram each ozher, eh?”
“Rams,” said Xim. “Seems suitable.” Doctor Visely handed the macrobinoculars back to Xim. “Well,
gentlemen, let’s stalk our prey and see if we can’t get a roast into our guts before nightfall.”
For the next few hours, the men quietly trekked their way through the bush and stalked the rams.
Overhead and from the safety of the sky, large black avians circled and watched as the strange looking
predators slowly made ground on their quarry.
“I feel like we’re being watched,” whispered John.
“We are,” replied Xim, and he pointed to the birds overhead.
“Yes, but…not just them,” he said. Xim read John’s face and paused. He straightened from his predatory
crouch and pushed a button on his wrist comm. The two antennas protruding from his Mandalorian
helmet lowered to a horizontal position and the pirate did a quick three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan.
“I’m not detecting anything,” he whispered back. John shrugged in an unconvinced manner.
Moving to hand signals, and leading John and Visely to within forty meters, Xim kept his hunters
downwind and motioned for them to move to prone positions. They brought their sights to their eyes,
and once his crosshairs aligned over the rams’ vital organs, each man squeezed his trigger. Booming
laser bolts reverberated through the stone walls of the high ravine, and the voyeuristically vigilant birds
scattered. Three rams fell and John jumped up and cheered.
“Nicely done!” he hollered.
The rams had fallen in a small, rocky clearing that was horse-shoed by a dense forest of leafy trees. The
men approached their kills and dragged them by their hooves across the natural stone floor where they
then laid them out, giving each other plenty of space to work.
“We’ll have to field dress them,” said Xim. “No time to be squeamish.” He pulled a knife from his utility
belt and scraped the tip across one of the carcasses.
“We’ll start with an incision along the neckline and then down the chest cavity to remove the organs.
We’ll detach the head and then quarter them. Take the large plastic wrap from the backpack, John, and
lay it out with some rocks to keep it anchored.” John did as he was instructed.
Being high up on the ravine’s edge, the wind began to pick up and gently stroke their faces as they
worked. The labor was gory, and the smell of blood drifted through the air. The voyagers were elbow
deep in blood and John kept looking over his shoulder as he worked.
“Johannes, what is going on?” Visely called.
“I’ve got an uneasy feeling, Doc, like something is watching us.”

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Xim looked up from his own carcass. “I’ve looked, John, the only thing watching us are those scavengers
above.”
Rather than hearing the rumble, John felt it first in his feet. The trees suddenly snapped, and it sounded
as though the ground itself had cracked in two. A snarling and feral fiend came roaring out of the bush.
It was monstrous in size and towered over the flat-footed men.
“Doctor! Run!” screamed John.
Doctor Visely stood petrified as the white, bear-shaped abomination came charging at him. Xim quickly
drew his blaster and fired off some shots, which sunk deep into the monster’s fur but did nothing to
slow the animal down. They did, however, graciously bring the beast’s attention to the armor-clad
warrior. Doctor Visely turtled to his knees with his arms over his head and wailed.
“Over here, beast!” shouted Xim. “Come get the meat!” Xim lifted a skinned leg he had quartered from
the ram and waved it at the monster. The beast obliged and shifted its trajectory from Visely to Xim, and
in moments was on top of the masked man. It swiped at the pirate with its clawed paw and knocked him
sideways toward the forest. Xim flew through the air and crashed against the trunk of a large tree,
tumbling out a painful grunt as his back smashed into the hard wood.
With unnatural speed, the monster was again on top of him and sunk its teeth into his shoulder and
chest, its massive fangs crunching down like an industrial press. Xim wailed in pain, his scream echoing
within the open space of the ravine, startling the roosting birds who fled into the sky.
A large rock shot through the air and smashed into the beast’s skull. The monster let go of Xim and fell
forward, losing consciousness for a moment, but just as quickly regained its senses and looked over its
massive shoulder to see where the attack had come from. John stood a short distance away with
another rock in his hand.
“That’s it. Look at me, beast. Come and get me!” John circled and side-stepped his way to the edge of
the cliff as he and the monster locked eyes. The monster roared a deafening retort and barred its
massive fangs.
Doctor Visely looked up from his turtled hunch and wailed, “Johannes!”
The beast charged on all fours. John threw his rock, but it simply bounced off the monster’s shoulder.
The feral force of nature closed in on the young man, but remaining calm and trusting in the Force, John
closed his eyes and allowed the mystical chorus of the universe to fill his soul. He reached out with his
hand and commanded the sword of Hevel into his grasp. Wriggling clear of Xim’s sheath, the sword flew
the distance into the Jedi Knight’s waiting palm. As soon as the hilt hit his grip, John seized the sword
with both hands, and as the beast charged, he stepped forward and plunged the sword into the
monster’s heart. A gasp of air exited the beast and it folded on top of the Knight, smothering him with
its large frame.
Silence blanketed the scene.
“Johannes?” Doctor Visely said softly. “Johannes?” He stood up from his haunches and made his way to
the still animal.
Xim gingerly got up and stumbled toward the motionless body of the beast. His ribs and shoulder were
injured and to relieve the pain he kept his hand crossed over his chest.

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“John?” he said. “John!?”
The men approached cautiously, fearing the worst, but the body of the massive creature remained still.
Suddenly the beast began to rise. Inch by inch the dead being began to levitate until John, laying on his
back with his sword protruding upward, was revealed. John strained as he held his palm upward,
grunting and laboring with an invisible force. The beast soon hovered several feet over him, its blood
dripping over the young man and the rocks. John raised the monster in the air, dropped the sword, and
struggled to his feet. With both hands, he telekinetically maneuvered the beast away from him and
released it several feet away.
“So, Xim was right,” whispered Visely, watching the natural order of things upend before him.
Visely and Xim ran over to check up on John. He had both hands on his knees and he was gasping for
breath.
“John! You’re alive!”
“Mein junge! What to say? You are a monster slayer!” he threw his arms around him. “You saved mein
life!”
John smiled and hugged the old man back.
“Don’t mention it,” he chuckled, and then added, “But really, Doc, don’t mention it—to anyone.
Please.” His eyes supplicated as he looked at Xim.
Xim placed his uninjured hand on the exhausted youth’s shoulder. “As I told you that first night you
awoke on my ship, John, you are among friends. Well…” he looked at Doctor Visely, “you have two
friends here at the very least.” John nodded.
“What about you, Captain? The monster got his teeth into you pretty good.”
“My clavicle is broken, and possibly some ribs. But his teeth did not penetrate.” He tapped his chest
plate. “Beskar.” The Dread Pirate looked over to the monster’s corpse.
“That will have to come with us.” He gingerly limped over to it. “We shall feast on its meat, taxidermy its
hide, and stand it as a trophy somewhere on the Fairwind.”
“Ja, Xim, but we must move quickly. I am not sure how much light we have, this planet is unfamiliar to
us.”
“Agreed, Doctor. Let us haul the rams to the Wolf-Cat. We’ll come back for the body of the beast. I’ll get
some bacta and pain meds into me and we should be fine.” He looked at his two mates, “Let’s move.”
The men collected their kills and the body of the beast, and after a few hours of intense hauling, were
resting by the campfire enjoying the fruits of their labor. Night had descended, and by the soft glow of
the fire, John and Doctor Visely greedily tore into the warm, glistening meat, while Xim carefully brought
small chunks to his mouth just under his mask. John was certain he caught a glimpse of Xim’s chin, which
reminded him of his dream the night before.
“I have a treat, gentleman,” said the pirate. He walked into the ship and pulled a wooden box from a
cabinet. Inside the box were four bottles of wine with glasses. John and Doctor Visely stayed seated by
the fire while Xim poured the wine, but he had surreptitiously dropped a pill into one of the glasses. He
rejoined his friends.

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“A toast, gentleman!”
“Wine?! You were holding out on us, Xim!”
“A little, Doctor, but not for myself to consume. To be drunk with friends.” He handed a glass to each
man and raised his own.
“To John Hawkins, the slayer of beasts!”
“Hear hear!” said Visely. The men raised their glasses and drank, then sat again around the fire.
After a time, Doctor Visely’s eyes became heavy with sleep.
“Close your eyes, Doctor, we worked hard today,” said Xim.
“Ja, we did, didn’t we? I think you are right, Xim, I think I will sleep.” The old man gently fell over and
began to snore. John laughed a little and settled back in his chair.
“Enjoying the wine, John?”
“Immensely. The meat was well prepared. Thank you, Captain.”
“Finnbarr taught me a few things.”
The two men watched the fire and let the crackling of the wood and the dancing red coals set the
ambiance. The Dread Pirate Xim brought his gaze directly upon John Hawkins.
“So, John, at what point can we openly talk about you being a Jedi?”
A few months ago, that question would have sent John into an emotional tailspin, like it had when
Doctor Visely asked him how he had moved away the smoke of Hevel, but John knew his display of
power from earlier that day had probably just confirmed what his two friends already conjectured about
him.
John stared into the fire for a long beat, thinking about what he was going to say next. He drank the end
of his wine and extended his empty glass to Xim. The dread pirate uncorked one of the bottles and filled
his glass to the brim. John drank deeply of the red liquid. The sweet warmth of the wine coursed
through his veins and loosened the tension around his eyes. His tears gathered, but not enough to allow
a flow.
“I suppose now is fine. Did you know prior to today?”
“Yes. At Elom. That’s why I shot you so quickly. I wasn’t sure of you, or your intentions, or your relation
to Visely.”
“Fair enough, I reason.” There was another pause. “What do you want to talk about?” the young man
asked.
“How you survived.”
A tear slowly rolled down John’s face and he wiped it away with his knuckle.
“My father saved me.”
Xim’s helmeted head tilted quizzically.
“But I thought…”

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“We had routed the droid army on Viridis. We were victorious, and during that battle my Master and I
fought harder than we ever had during the Clone War. The Force flowed easily through us, and we
moved like water. But when it was over everything felt wrong, like we had crashed upon some rocks. In
the quiet of the aftermath, we began to assess our casualties and take inventory of our supplies. Then a
storm started to roll in. I remember the air was filled with a dark and oppressive energy. My Master felt
it too, and he pulled me aside. We sat down at the edge of a cliff on some rocks, and he told me he was
not only my Master, but my father.”
John caught the emotion in his heart, and it fluttered through his chest. His voice cracked a little, but he
cleared his throat and continued.
“The joy I felt at that moment was overwhelming.” The young man smiled. “We laughed and hugged,
and I told him I always suspected it was the case, but I thought that such a… notion was just childlike
wishful thinking. He told me that when he was a young Jedi Knight he met my mother, and after a time I
was conceived. I don’t know much about their relationship, whether it was based on some sort of love,
or just something physical; maybe an opportunity the two took in a moment of weakness. I really don’t
know. But circumstances conspired, and after she became pregnant, she lost contact with my father. I
was born and she did not hear back from him. She thought he was dead, or perhaps was simply ignoring
her, and confessed to her father that she’d had relations with a Jedi Knight.
As it turned out, my father had been held prisoner on a distant planet. He was on a mission for the Jedi
Council where things had gone awry. After he escaped, he made it back to my mother ready to leave the
Jedi Order and marry her and be a father to me. But before he made his way back to her, she was told
by her own father to give me to the Jedi Order, and she obeyed.
After this meeting my parents agreed, I guess, to go their separate ways. My father said he was pleased,
and from then on, he kept watch over me at the Temple, where I was his secret son. Many years later he
maneuvered circumstances to make me his Padawan learner, all the while visiting me frequently and
giving me gifts.
He told me all of this, and not a moment after, our clone contingent opened fire on us. They killed him
almost instantly. He put his body between me and the clones and told me where to find my mother: on
Llanic, said that I should run to her. The clones were shouting to kill me, and I jumped off the cliff.
I was afraid and I panicked. I barely controlled my fall because my grasp on the Force was unhinged. I
crashed through the trees and landed hard on the ground. Somewhere in the fall I lost my lightsaber.
But I kept running. I ran for days and days and the clones chased me. They were always right behind me,
and I ran and ran. I eventually lost them and realized my only way off the planet was on a Republic ship,
so I doubled back and hid myself in an empty weapons container.
The ship went to Coruscant, and there was a beacon on my communicator ordering all Jedi to the
Temple, but as I was heading there the message changed from ‘come home’ to ‘run and hide’. So, I hid
in the lower levels, disguised myself, stole money and food, and made my way to Llanic.
It took me nearly a month to get there, and when I arrived my mother took me in, but over time I
realized she hated me.
I worked without complaint at her inn, though she was cruel to me. But daily I fantasized about my
revenge. For five years this fantasy has been foremost in my mind. And one day, when I come across CT-
6166, who was known to us as Erregal—and believe me, that day will come—I will say to him:
‘Erregal,

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You remember me as John Devereux.
You killed my father.
I will have my revenge.’”

John’s eyes went wide as he recited his deadly script for the Dread Pirate, his eyes burning with hatred.
When he was finished, he came to himself once more.
“And then one dark night Doctor Visely stumbled into my life, and then you, and now we’re here.”
John ended his story and Xim did not say anything for a long while. The pirate extended the wine bottle
to John questioningly, and John leaned over with his empty glass. The pirate topped him off once more.
The crackling of the fire filled the void. Then the Dread Pirate started:
“I had a young man on my crew named Andrew Woodman. He was killed just before we shipped off to
Llanic to look for Visely. We ran into some Zygerrian slavers, and me being the Dread Pirate Xim, I would
not abide them. So, we took out their ship, boarded them, relieved them of their valuables, and freed
the beings they had enslaved. Somewhere in the firefight Andrew was shot and killed, and his death
broke my heart. Not only because he was a good friend and I enjoyed his company, but because I had
plans for him. What Zygerrians we did capture, I lined up on their knees and shot. The Dread Pirate Xim
does not take slavers as prisoners. Ever.”
A small straw exited out of the bottom of Xim’s mask, and he took a sip of his wine.
“You remind me a lot of Andrew, John. You’re a capable young man. When we finish this quest, what do
you want to do?”
John paused a moment before answering, “To be honest, Captain, I was hoping to stay with you. There
is nothing left for me on Llanic. There is nothing left for me anywhere.”
Xim stared intently at the young man across the fire. “John?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I have a secret I want to tell you.” Xim put his glass of wine down and slowly raised his hands to his
helmet. He lifted his helmet off his head and gazed upon John with his own eyes.
“I’m not really the Dread Pirate Xim.”
John looked into the face from his dream. His eyes were a piercing blue, and his jaw was square with a
dimple in his chin. Silver stubble ran across his face. He had straight teeth and wrinkles at the corners of
his eyes. His silver hair was short and matted down with sweat.
“My name is Rylan Jaren-Jade. I’m from Corellia.” His voice was no longer modulated through the mask.
He pulled out a small holodisk from his side pocket and turned it on. A holographic portrait of a young
human boy, with neatly combed hair and a big smile with a space between his teeth rotated over his
palm.
“My wife and I loved our boy, Paul. He was the light of our lives. We married too young, and we had a
rocky start to our marriage, but with Paul in our lives we made it work. Then Paul took sick, and at just
seven years old, he died. At our wedding the high priest said, ‘until death do you part’, and he was right.
Paul’s death broke us apart. We buried our marriage when we buried Paul. Heather turned to booze and
spice. I was no better. I left.”

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Xim raised his glass and drank deeply of his wine, some of it spilling down the side of his mouth, his blue
eyes filling with tears. He cleared his throat.
“I worked the shipyards for a while, then took to gambling, and traveled across the galaxy, bouncing
from one sabacc game to another. I filled the lack of love in my life with booze, spice, and loose women.
But all of that changed when I signed up for what I thought was a simple merchant crew and met the
Dread Pirate Xim. He saved my life. He introduced me to Solomon, The Lord of the Force, and He
changed my life. Though I would not say I am a good example of a Solomon-son, what with all the killing
I do, but the fault lies with me, not Him.
And so, I apprenticed under the greatest pirate in history. We harassed the Hutts, the Zygerrians, the
Crime Lords; any scum that would exploit the weak. And we became rich. Then one day, a day like this,
he asked me to be the Dread Pirate Xim, and revealed he was not the real Dread Pirate Xim either. That
the man before him had done the same. And so on, and so on, until all the way back to the days of the
High Republic. The Xim before me retired to a nice island with his pockets full of riches and I intend to
do the same. But I hope not to be alone. I’m going to look for Heather, and hopefully reconcile with her.
Maybe we can be a family again, if she’ll have me. But before all of that can happen, I need to appoint a
new Dread Pirate Xim. There needs to be a force in the galaxy that is good, that stands up for the
vulnerable, that attacks evil institutions that exploit the weak.”
Xim took another swig of his wine.
“You are a ronin, John, a masterless warrior. I’m sorry to say it, but the Jedi Order has not been that
institution for a long time. Fulfill your purpose! You are a Jedi, John, but the Jedi are no longer. As the
Dread Pirate Xim you could be a judicious force of good in the galaxy. You’re that man, John. I’d like you
to be the next Dread Pirate Xim.”
John slowly nodded and considered what Xim had just told him.
“So, who was the first Dread Pirate Xim, then?”
“Ah, well, the history of the Dread Pirate is contained in multiple logs, secured in a safe in my quarters.
It is a rite of passage for the new Dread Pirate Xim to read through the entirety of the collection. The
hand of each Dread Pirate has contributed to it. But to cut to your question, the first Dread Pirate Xim
was a Mandalorian, hence the uniform.” Xim motioned his hands down his armor.
“His name was Tyrone Tyre, and it was he who first found the Fairwind on Ruusan and restored her.
That story is also contained in the log, and worth reading.”
Xim reached down and placed his helmet back on.
“I’m flattered, Captain. I’m not saying no, but can I have time to think about it?”
“Of course,” Xim’s voice had changed back to the deeply modulated baritone, but John could now
detect his authentically rich speech through the layers of audio cloaking. “We still have much time
before we reach Hevel’s lair and collect the treasure. And when we’re done, we’ll dismiss the crew, and
hire a new one. I’ll stay onboard as your first mate, calling you Captain, and no one will be the wiser.”
John nodded and smiled. He raised his glass of wine. “To the Dread Pirate Xim,” he said in a toast.
“To the Dread Pirate Xim!” Xim agreed and the two clinked their glasses.

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Upon reaching the Fairwind both crews emptied their cargo holds of animal carcasses and hauled their
meaty treasures to Finnbarr’s kitchen. Of particular interest to Silvermane and the clones was the
massive, white-furred monster dragged from Xim’s Wolf-Cat.
“What in all of Togoria is that?” exclaimed Silvermane. The Togorian and his crew gathered around the
body.
“This is the body of the beast slayed by our own John Hawkins. The poor thing didn’t stand a chance,”
explained Xim. “As to what it’s actually named, I haven’t the foggiest. The beast came at us as we stood
unawares.”
“And John killed it?” asked Silvermane.
“Indeed, with his own two hands.” Such a tale was too much for Silvermane. He grunted in disgust,
waved at the clones and they began to back away from the body.
“Let’s keep moving. We have to unload our cargo,” Silvermane said dismissively.
Two B2 commando droids had tied ropes around the monster and began to pull it from the hold.
“Drag that to Finnbarr. Instruct him to skin it, and then take the choicest section from it and begin
roasting. Tonight, we feast!”
After the work was completed, and Finnbarr had prepared a meal, Xim called the crew to the mess hall
and all but the clones took part, their dedication to eating in the solitude of their quarters never
wavering over the duration of the journey. As the feasting waned, and the secret stashes of Xim’s wine
ran dry, the Dread Pirate, John, Visely, Silvermane, George, and Finnbarr settled into their rooms for the
evening, their bellies full of meat and their hearts full of wine.
Early the next morning John reported to the bridge, and as always, the Dread Pirate Xim stood before his
helm, keeping watch and commanding his ancient galleon.
“Permission to enter the bridge, Captain.”
“Granted. Take your post, John.”
John slid into his ensign’s seat, and not a moment later, Fiji’s console lit up and beeped.
“By the Lord of the Force, John, your timing is always impeccable. Report, Fiji.”
“The silan constellation is a few parsecs ahead, Captain. Sensors have filtered through the data and have
detected a planet with an atmosphere. If our path through Wild Space has proved true, we have come
to Hevel’s lair.”
“Here be the dragon,” whispered Xim. “Calculate a hyperspace jump, Ahab. It seems the planet is still
some distance off.” Xim turned behind him to look at the super tactical droid standing at his executive
desk.
“And if your hyperspace jump proves correct, Ahab, which I believe it will, how long until we reach the
planet?”
“One hour, Captain.”
Xim nodded and moved to the controls on his helm. A chime echoed through the entirety of the ship,
and the pirate’s modulated voice washed through the halls.

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“Attention crew. We are nearing our destination and should be there within the hour. Report to the
cargo bay in thirty minutes with all gear and weapons. Xim out.”
Xim’s message echoed throughout the ship. As they were preparing for their daily duties, the clones
heard the captain’s word through the room’s loudspeakers. Erregal looked at his brothers and nodded
as they left their quarters. He slid down some service ladders and made his way to a small room near
the ship’s engines. Deep in the underbelly of the Fairwind, he retrieved his holoprojector from his
pocket and entered the encryption code given to him many months ago back on Gorse. The
holoprojector lit up and he began his recording.
“Minister Hydan. This is Captain Erregal of the 276th Clone Battalion. Many months ago, I told you about
our expedition into Wild Space. To summarize briefly, Minister, we have found the lair of Darth Hevel
and are preparing our expedition to explore her temple and possibly retrieve any artifacts or treasure
we find there. I have been surreptitiously recording our path through Wild Space, keeping records of our
hyperspace jumps and our route at sublight. I have attached with this message an impeccably calculated
hyperspace path to our location. By the time you get to us, myself and my company will have subdued
the Dread Pirate Xim and his crew. Notably, Minister, unbeknownst to us before we embarked on this
quest, part of Xim’s crew consists of a Jedi Padawan who managed to escape Order 66—John Devereux.
We know him personally, as he was the Padawan under General Hawkins. I look forward to meeting you
Minister, where we will turn over to the Empire all artifacts recovered, and the Jedi, in return for the
commission you spoke of. Captain Erregal out.”
Back on the bridge, Xim turned to John, “The same goes for you. Get your gear and meet me in the
cargo hold. It’s time we finished our quest!”
John could not contain his excitement. He ran to his room, collected the blaster pistol given to him by
Xim, belted it to his waist and cinched the holster to his leg, then raced to the cargo hold. Already there,
and off in the corner of the hold, Xim was standing next to the secret container they collected from Iego.
It had two thick cables running from the control panel on the door to a side data console where Xim was
uploading images. As John approached, he saw a rotating holograph of his face and his biodata beneath
it.
“Captain, what’s going on?”
“All in good time, John. I’m preparing our insurance policy.” After John’s image came Visely’s, then
George’s, and then Finnbarr’s, each with their biodata. Moments later, the door on the side of the cargo
hold opened and Silvermane entered with the mercenary crew, just as the pirate was loading
Silvermane’s biodata into the pad. Having completed his task, Xim closed the console before they could
clearly make out what he was doing.
Suddenly a large noise boomed through the capacious bay, like a metal beast had come to life, and
resonating thumps began to rebound through the hall. Piloted by the two LE repair droids, the fully
repaired AT-TE tank tread heavily into the center of the hold, coming to a stop just behind Xim.
He took the center of the room. “Xim’s pirate crew!” shouted the Dread Pirate to the company
assembled before him, “Mount up! It’s time to head to the surface and collect the Despot’s gold!”

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 Chapter 8
As They Walk Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death
“Nothing, Fiji?”
“Nothing, Captain,” replied the modulated voice of the pilot droid. “Our sensors have found no
intelligent structures. I initially used the parameters from the Elom temple site but discovered nothing. I
have gone beyond such parameters and searched for any sort of structure but have still uncovered
nothing.”
Moments earlier Xim had been ready to send the crew to the planet’s surface, under the assumption
that the Fairwind’s scanners would pick up the temple site quickly. “It seems Hevel remains hidden,” the
Dread Pirate whispered to himself as he gazed out the galleon’s view screen to the planet’s surface
below. “Fiji, you and Ahab will vacate your posts for the moment. Go see if you can make yourselves
useful to the crew in the bay. John and I will handle it from here.”
Fiji withdrew from his desk and he and Ahab exited the bridge, acquiescing to Xim’s command.
“John, I think it’s time you used your Jedi training to find our mark.”
John nodded and stepped forward. “Understood, Captain, but for this exercise I will need the sword of
Hevel.” Xim turned to look at the young man, and after a brief moment of hesitation, he began to un-
cinch his belt where the sword hung.
“It will look good on you, John.” He handed John the belt and the young man effortlessly strapped it to
his own waist. John took his place behind the helm. He planted his feet firmly on the floor, grasped the
wooden helm with one hand, the hilt of Hevel’s sword with the other, and closed his eyes.
A mystical chord reverberated within his being, and he began to pilot the Fairwind around the planet.

Find the path John. Trust your feelings… Your feelings. Two voices rolled through his psyche—that
of his father, and a dark, feminine voice from behind the veil. The Force flows through you…through

you. My son.
He dove deeper into his meditative trance. Sailing with his eyes closed, he navigated the golden galleon
up and down the planet’s latitude, finally circling over a mountain range in the southern hemisphere. He
opened his eyes, and deftly moving his hands over the helm’s controls, focused his attention on a
narrow fissure at the base of the mountains.
“There,” he spoke. “We land at these coordinates, Captain.”
“Very good, John. Now take the ship down.”
Pushing forward on the helm’s gimbal, John glided the Fairwind through the atmosphere of the
unknown planet. The golden galleon’s hull began to glow orange as it soared through the ether and then
pierced through the smokey green clouds, the blue flames of the Fairwind’s engines loudly roaring
through the sea-green planet’s silent sky.

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A haunting hum resonated within John’s heart as he got closer to his target. He brought to bear all of his
training from Xim and landed the majestic capital ship a few kilometers from where he suspected the
lair of Hevel stood.
Standing in the ship’s bay, before the Fairwind’s great cargo door, and feeling the rumbles of the ship’s
descent through their limbs, were Silvermane, the mercenary crew, and the full armada of Xim’s
warbots.
The young Jedi pilot brought the Fairwind to a soft arrival, her claw-like landing gear unfurling and
reaching out for the rocky ground, while powerful hisses of air blew from the ship’s underbelly. As soon
as the Fairwind touched down, the cargo bay’s great pistons began to push open the massive door. A
sliver of grayish-green light flooded the darkened bay. Xim’s droid armada was standing at the ready,
and it poured out with a thunderous stomping rhythm, perfectly organized in ten-by-ten garrisons.
The uncharted planet blew with an uneasy and dark energy, yet no wind moved through the air. The
system’s star tilted at a mid-afternoon angle, and a greenish light covered the planet’s surface, casting
an eerie glow on the flat and flowing terrain leading up to the base of the mountains before them. The
source of the green light was the dying sun spinning many hundreds of thousands of kilometers away at
the system’s center, the photons of its glow reacting with the atmosphere of the bedeviled sphere.
Hevel’s Home, which the adventures now named the planet, sat at the edge of the unknown star
system.
The green of the planet’s light settled on a gray and rocky terrain. The mountains before them, made
from a dark, wine-colored stone, pierced sharply into the cloud-covered sky. Hundreds of kilometers of
flat terrain flowed in every direction away from the mountain.
Xim had programmed their positions and leading the assault force were the droidekas. One hundred
droidekas rolled out of the cargo bay in pods of five and set the perimeter for the remaining robotic
militia to flow forth from the massive cavity. Following the droidekas were four square pods of one
hundred B2 battle droids, armed with laser cannons and vibro-swords, and following them was another
line of one hundred B2 commando droids, also armed with blasters and vibroswords. Twelve lines of
four hundred droids each, alternating between B2 battle and commando droids, marched out of the
belly of the Fairwind.
At the center of this armada was the All-Terrain Tactical-Enforcer ground tank. Thundering mechanically
in the midst of the armada, the gear joints of the walker whirring out a motorized whine, the heavily
armored tank was piloted by George, who stood inside the transparisteel cockpit manning the controls.
Seated in the tank’s mass-driver turret cannon was Finnbarr, fingers ready to lay down a blistering
assault of heavy ordinance projectiles.
The doors to the AT-TE’s troop carrier were removed and bolted to the floor was another set of smaller
laser cannons. Ky and Gibil each manned a gun and grasped the controls, ready to blister anything that
would dare approach. Seated within the tank, manning the front and back laser cannons, were Marduk,
Sargon, Dagon, and Martu.
Perched atop of the tank were the remaining crew: Xim, John, Visely, Silvermane, and Erragal, along
with some more B2 commando droids. Earlier in the voyage the two LE repair droids had welded a steel
platform on the top of the tank to deal with the AT-TE’s sloping back end. Each man sported his
preferred blaster of choice, a rucksack of equipment and first aid supplies, and Xim made sure each
soldier was equipped with a vibrosword, the sharp and deadly blades cinched smartly at each man’s
waist.

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Erragal was clad in his polished, red composite armor, his DC-17m blaster rifle shining and primed.
Facing forward at the head of the tank, on either side of George in the cockpit, were John and the Dread
Pirate Xim, their shoulders squared to the approaching mountains ahead of them. Each man stood
upright, with his chest out, a hand on his sword hilt and a blaster slung at his side, ready for whatever
sorcery may come at them. Silvermane took the center of the platform and held his TL-50 blaster rifle at
the ready. Standing behind John was Doctor Visely, looking as brave as he could.
“Fiji!” commanded Xim as he spoke into his wrist comm, “take the Fairwind into orbit, and leave one of
the Wolf-Cats in her stead. I want her safe and away from whatever wizardry may come our way.
Maintain a high orbit and wait for my signal to come down again.”
John turned to look at Doctor Visely and read the concern in the old man’s face. The windless air blew
and rustled his hair. He turned to comfort him and placed his hands on his shoulders.
“Doc, maybe you should sit this one out. Head into orbit with Fiji and mind the Fairwind with him.
We’ve got this.”
“No, Johannes, it is all right. Look at ze army we have before us. Five zousand droids strong. Plus, zhere
may not be anyzing terrible here, I’m zinking. I’m not sure what to zink right now about what Xims says,
about zombies and whatnot. Maybe it is just all coo-coo crazy stuff.”
Xim’s droid army had fully marched out of the Fairwind’s belly and Fiji parked the Wolf-Cat just behind
the armada.
“Now is your chance to stay back, Doc. We can get you onboard! To be honest I’m a bit worried, I have a
sinking feeling in my stomach.” Fiji went back into the Fairwind.
“Nonsense, Johannes, look at you. You are my warrior son! I am safe with you. Plus, we are so close to a
major archaeological discovery. I have been working on zis my whole academic life. I can feel somezing
is here. We are about to discover a secret. Ze treasure of Xim ze Despot is here. I am right, Hevel has it. I
know zat she does.” John placed the palm of his hand on the side of Visely’s face and smiled.
After many long minutes the pilot droid raised the ship’s ramp. The Fairwind’s engines began to roar to
life as Fiji began to power up the ship.
“MARCH!” hollered Xim as he thrust his vibrosword in the direction of the mountains. The droids’ feet
stomped in unison on the compacted gray dirt, and the whirring of the AT-TE’s gears began to hum
rhythmically, its six mechanical feet rising and falling at different times.
“Well, stick close to me, I’ll keep you safe,” replied the young man as the crew began to rock back and
forth atop the tank. “You might be right, there may not be anything to this zombie stuff. Maybe we’ll
just find the temple, and the treasure, and load everything on our gravsleds with no fuss.”
As they grew closer to the mountain, a howling wind began to echo across the valley, yet no breeze
blew.
“John,” said Xim. Do you hear that? A howling wind with…” He paused to listen closely, and then raised
his hand in the air, “no wind.”
“Yes. It sounds like the howling monkeys of Kashyyyk.”
“Where’s it coming from?” asked Erragal.
All eyes were focused on the mountains before them.

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A cacophonous din of musical strings began to rattle in John’s heart.
“Where is the bloody lair anyway? I don’t see a kriffing thing! Where are we going?” Erragal shouted
irritatedly, “there is nothing before us, no temple, just a mountain.”
“John?” asked Xim.
John turned his attention forward and was greeted by the sickly-sweet smell of the dark side of the
Force. It pressed itself against his face.
“It’s here,” he said in a soft tone. He reached out his hand and closed his eyes, feeling the Force flow
through him.
The rocks, the sand, the air. Feel it, the voice of his father said to him.

Here I am… I am… the seductively dark voice countered.

John opened his eyes and could see the cold and translucent smoke of Hevel before him, veiling a
structure in the distance. Collecting his strength in the Force, John pushed his internal energy toward
the mountain, and just like at Elom, drove away the invisible mist. The discordant howling swelled in
volume and blended with guttural cries of pain, but immediately in front of the adventures the lair of
Hevel was finally revealed.
Embedded in the facade of the mountain was a great stone castle. Bright green mist stirred along its
walls and rolled at the base of its central tower. Symmetrically laid at each side were two round
bulwarks, with glowing green light dancing out their archery windows. A carved, stone diamond stood at
the top of the tower, with a line bisecting through it that made a triangle on the top and a triangle at the
bottom. An all-seeing eye was masoned in both triangles at their center.
A wide and paved
stone bridge
arching over a
great crevice led to
the center of the
castle, and the
path was adorned
with large statues
of Sith dragons
standing high on
stone pedestals:
the same
mysterious Sith
figures from the
temple on Elom. A
giant wooden door
that arched at the
center waited for
them.
After John exposed
the castle, the

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howls and cries came to a fever pitch, but the men could still not see the source of the din. Reaching
within himself, the Jedi Knight gave another mighty push of the Force, and a great vortex of Hevel’s
smoke wafted to the sides and cleared before the droid armada.
A great chorus of howls and screams called out to the heavens above, and before the now diminutive
droid army was a great sea of undead beings, hundreds of thousands strong. All at once, they came
charging forward with a mighty wail.
“By the Lord of the Force,” whispered Visely, “I...I…”
They came charging at the adventurers like something out of a nightmare, their dead gray eyes
reflecting only madness and staring at them hungrily.
“What are those things?!” asked Silvermane.
“Undead Elomin,” answered John.
“More automatons in my way,” countered Erragal.
“OPEN FIRE!” ordered Xim.
Red laser fire erupted from Xim’s forces and pierced like arrows into the zombie horde, the droids’
targeting computers aimed for headshots only. The opening shots were successful, the first few lines of
the zombies succumbing to the attack, but Xim’s army’s opening salvo was just a minuscule shove
against the massive momentum of anger and death racing toward them.
“Finnbarr, aim for the back line and lay down heavy fire. Let’s squeeze this horde front to back!”
Finnbarr fired off three massive cannon shots and, as ordered, took out some of the back ranks of the
mass.
“FORWARD MARCH!” yelled the Dread Pirate.
The droid armada, with the AT-TE at its center, marched forward and continued to lay down blaster fire.
“Captain!” called Marduk into Erragal’s audio comms. “There’s too many of them.”
“It’s impossible, Captain! There’s no way!” concurred Ky, his voice cracking with fear and urgency. “We
weren’t ready for this many!” Within the cannon cockpits of the AT-TE the clones beheld an unending
sea of zombies sprinting closer. The grizzled veterans did all they could to steel their nerves and fired
relentlessly into the undead wall of flesh.
“They’re circling, they’re circling!” called Marduk, manning one of the rear cannons.
The zombie horde broke around their flanks and formed a circle around the advancing droid squadron,
their bodies making sick, moist noises as their flesh and bones jostled together.
“FULL SPEED TO THE DOOR!” commanded Xim.
George engaged the AT-TE to its full running trot, while the vanguard of droidekas clashed with the
zombie horde’s front lines. The undead mass perfectly circled itself around Xim’s force, like an insect
colony around its prey, and though the droids pounded out powerful lasers, the sheer number of bodies
pressed up against them proved to be too much. Within moments, the zombies ripped apart the
droidekas, tearing their legs out from under them and ripping their heads from their bodies. Then they
moved on to engage with the B2 battle and commando droids.

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Blaster fire spit relentlessly from the top of the tank, Xim and his compatriots taking aim and blasting
heads. The tank’s laser cannons shot out in every direction as well, the clone crew, well versed in the
intricacies of Republic tech, keeping up the pressure, while John, deeply sunk into a battle meditative
state, did not miss a shot.
“Xim! Xim! You underestimated Hevel’s defenses!” shouted Doctor Visely over the howling mass as he
fired madly into the undead crowd. “Ze stench of death is closing in around us.”
“Not so, Doctor, take heart and draw your sword! Look to our commando droids!”
After making short work of the droidekas, the zombie throng pressed itself into the battle droids’ lines,
but finding the sword wielding automatons a deadly match, were held at bay while the AT-TE continued
to advance to the castle door.
It was at this point in the battle that the commando droids came into their own. Nimble and quick, they
were able to duck, dodge, and push off from the zombies while they swung their vibroswords with
decapitating deftness. Their AI came to understand the horde’s pile-on tactic: several undead would
throw themselves over their quarry while one of their number would start to rip or pull or tear at their
prey, but after analyzing this maneuver, the commando units insured they were never stationary and
kept their feet moving, bending low at the knees and thrusting off any bodies that got in from behind.
After the first few moments of engagement, the zombie horde began to lose its momentum.
“See, Doctor! We have them on the back foot! Keep up the pressure, men!”
Xim and his army pressed forward and advanced to the door, while the AT-TE squished undead bodies
underfoot.
“Captain Xim,” Fiji hailed the Dread Pirate over his comms. The pirate took a moment to answer into his
wrist comm.
“What is it, Fiji?!”
“I have gone over transmission signals from the last week and there was an unauthorized…”
“NOT NOW, FIJI! WE’RE IN A BATTLE!” He switched off his receiver, but Erragal took note of the
communiqué.
Silvermane let loose a howl as he bombed concussion blasts into the stinking mass.
“Get the stunned ones, droids, take their kriffing heads off!” he bellowed to the droids below.
“Finnbarr! Take out the castle’s front door. We’ll make for it!” ordered Xim. Finnbarr fired two cannon
blasts dead ahead, shattering the massive wooden door into splinters and shards that flew every which
way.
Advancing even further and coming to the precipice of the wide stone bridge, the droid army was
successfully keeping the zombie horde at bay, when suddenly a bright green mist blew out from the
tower above and hovered over the face of the undead deep. The zombies changed tactics, and in
unison, like a swarm of black birds, multiple groups of them suddenly began building ramps of flesh
among themselves, and like trained acrobats, they began to fling their brethren behind the droids’ lines.
Like cannon blasts of fodder, the Elomin zombies flew through the air and thudded behind the droids,
where they tore and madly clawed, their piercing howls damaging the warbots’ audio sensors. The

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horde had taken the advantage it needed, and now the periphery of the fetid mass funneled itself
behind Xim’s flank.
Zombies began to shred Xim’s perfectly programmed warbots. Their vibroswords being ripped from
their limbs was followed closely by twisted necks and claws through circuits. After a time, the blaster fire
waned and the only sound of technological warfare came from Xim and his crew.
“DRAW SWORDS!” screamed the Dread Pirate, “HERE THEY COME!” The sibilant sound of several sharp
swords unsheathing in unison rang out among the howling din that was beginning to claw its way up the
walker’s legs.
“GET OUT OF THERE! NOW!” ordered Xim to the clone crew stationed within the walker. Ky and Gibil
kept at their posts and laid down cover fire to give Marduk, Sargon, Martu, and Dagon the space they
needed to escape. George jumped from the cockpit, halting the walker’s advance right before the
bridge. Not a moment later, the zombies entered the troop carrier and soon after the blood curdling
cries of Ky and Gibil echoed out. Xim reached down and hauled George up just as one zombie grasped
for his dangling leg.
“Johannes,” whimpered Visely. The young Jedi kept his body before his old friend. “We will not live.”
Like a divine flood, the rancid sea of undead Elomin rose to the edge of the roof-top platform and
clawed their way to the crew.
“Keep swinging!”
Low drumbeats pounded in John’s heart. Fear? He wondered. Or exhaustion?
“Shoot there, shoot there!”
The rumble grew louder. He swung his sword and looked at Xim. The Dread Pirate was holding his own.
“Back, beast, back!”
It grew more intense. Erragal was blasting and swinging. Bones is tough, John thought, turning that way.
“Kriff!”
Orchestral strings began to wail and pounding drums reverberated through his heart. A quick look left
revealed Silvermane had abandoned his sword in favor of his claws.
“Nooooooo!”
The zombies pulled at Dagon. His arms came off first, and then his legs and he sank below the surface of
the horde in pieces. From within the tank’s compartments, crunching noises, thick and juicy like the
sound of biting into ripe fruit, dripped into their ears.
“There’s too many! There’s too many!”
A scream. Blackened claws pulled Marduk. More blood and entrails and limbs sank through the mass of
zombies.
“Stand tall, men! This is it!” hollered Xim.
“JOHANNES!”

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A hand grasped Doctor Visely by his ankle and violently hauled him to the surface of the writhing sea of
anger. He floated for a moment on the undead mosh pit, like a ring of gold on molten lava, and locked
eyes with John.
“Johannes…” he whispered.
Two low drumbeats pounded in John’s heart.
“No,” the Jedi murmured. A cacophony of discordant strings connected him to the Force. He reached
into the ancient energy field to yank Visely back to him, but a green mist suddenly came up from the
horde and obscured Visely.

Fear. Nothing.
“NO!”
A putrid hand shot out from the shadowy deep and grabbed Visely’s face from behind. Before he sank
below the pit of clutching fiends, they tore off his legs, and his arms, and ripped his head from his body.
John watched the gore.
Silence.
Then.
A high-pitched wail boomed over everything, knocking back the reeking bodies of the zombie swarm.
Lifting the sword of Hevel high and looking up to the heavens, his blue eyes blazing with hatred and
rage, John wailed at the sky. Buzzing with confusion and pain, a budding craze and a profound sense of
emptiness washed over him. Somewhere in his psyche a small voice told him not to give in to the sweet-
tasting anger; that this was the path to the dark side, but his eyes saw red, and he looked to the blood
and gore all over his hands and everywhere around him, and at the space where Doctor Visely had been,
and a dark voice called out:

Feed the rage… the rage. Taste it…taste. It is NOT SATED…not sated. Enact
justice… justice. Remember what they did to your father…father.
John fed. He fed and drank deeply of the sweetly dark energy, and he no longer felt empty. He felt the
music of the Force surge into him, coupled with a strength beyond anything he had ever known. He felt
full of the Force, full of power, full of life.
The swirling chaotic storm of pain that had been sitting in the youth’s heart for years finally screamed
out from the Jedi Knight. Green bolts of lightning shot from his hands and the sword of Hevel. The
multiple bolts of mystical coruscation found their paths through the zombie horde that was once again
attempting to scramble up the walker’s legs. The green bolts of energy surged through the multitude of
undead, obliterating them into black clouds of mist, and all at once John’s electric judgment had cleared
a path across the stone bridge.
“To the door! Now!” John ordered.
George and Finnbarr scrambled off the tank first, followed by Silvermane, Martu, Sargon, Erragal, Xim,
and finally John.

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“Run!” he commanded.
“Keep a cover fire on him men!” hollered Xim. The crew began to make their escape across the stone
bridge and toward the shattered castle door, while John faced the regrouped and oncoming zombie
horde.
With the sword of Hevel in hand, John seized the center of the stone bridge and squared up to the
advancing throng. He called again on the ancient power that now came readily to him and shot from his
fingertips more powerful green bolts of charged conviction. The forked and burning streams of energy
broke into branches before him, disintegrating multiple bodies at once and thinning the undead host.
“I don’t think a cover fire is necessary,” said Silvermane.
Keeping their sights on the zombie horde ahead of them, Xim and the crew ran backward over the
bridge and into the dim of the castle’s mouth. Even though John seemed to have the situation in hand,
they still did as the captain ordered and kept up a steady stream of blaster fire to cover John’s retreat.
“Inside!” ordered the Dread Pirate.
The howling of the advancing, shadowy mass grew to a deafening crescendo, their angry wails fed by
the fact that a lone warrior kept them at bay. Using his gift in the Force, John pushed and tossed the
zombie bodies over the sides of the bridge, interspersing his invisible assaults with streams of electric
fire.
Giving one last mighty push in the Force, John bowled over the horde and turned to run inside the
castle. There, waiting for him in a massive chamber illuminated by a faint green light, were the Dread
Pirate and the remaining crew. Arching, square pillars framed the high, gothic chamber, and at the base
of a high, steep staircase that led to a vast triangle door precipitously above, the crew stood, trying
desperately to catch their collective breath.
The light of the outside penetrated just within the entrance, gently resting on the broken wooden door
laying in pieces on the ground. John lifted the shattered pieces of wood with the Force and placed them
before the entrance in a small attempt to slow down the horde coming toward them.
“Up!” John ordered, and the eight remaining men began to pound their way up the steep stone
staircase.
“Hurry!” called Xim. “Here they come!” The zombie horde reached the entrance and began to pour over
the makeshift barrier and chase the men up the stairs.
John halted their progress once more with an awesome display of electric power.
Running for their lives, the men stepped, pounded, and leaped their way up the lofty flight of steps.
“C’mon, George! Let’s go man!” Xim ran past the unfit, middle-aged man and grabbed him by his collar,
hauling him up the stairs. At the head of the pack was Finnbarr, revealing to all the fact that he was in
incredible shape.
Their impressive feat of aerobic vigor complete, the crew made it to the top of the stairs, and there,
waiting for them, was an enormous stone entrance in the shape of a triangle. Hanging over the entrance
was a wrought iron chandelier with burning green lights encased in glass. It shone down an illuminated
green circle of light before the triangular door’s entrance, and the crew stood within the light’s spacious
glow.

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Within moments the horde would be on top of them.
“Look, Captain!” called Finnbarr looking into the wide opening. “The treasure!”
They all turned to look behind them at the triangle-shaped entrance. The doorway tunneled down a
long hallway that emptied out into a massive chamber that shone brightly with a golden light.
“By Solomon’s beard…” muttered Xim. “It’s here. The treasure of Darth Hevel. We made it.”
“Those creatures are goin’ ta be here any second! What are ye waitin’ fer! Run inside!”
The crew made to enter the cavern and run down the hall, but an invisible force stopped their advance.
“What the kriff?!” cursed Erragal.
“Push!” called Martu.
“PUSH!” ordered Xim.
The eight men began to shoulder and push against the invisible force before them. Though the entrance
had no door and the men could see down its long hallway, they could not pass the cavern’s threshold.
John came to the fore of the pack and stood just before the entrance. He could see that the mist of
Hevel filled the cavity between them and the treasure, and with the sword of Hevel in hand, he
managed to slightly move his body past the threshold.
“John, hurry!” said Xim.
“Too late!” bellowed George.
The men turned to face their pursuers, their backs against the wall, ready to make their last stand.
“Swords and blasters!” shouted Xim. “Fire!”
Blaster fire met the zombies as they rushed up the steps, the Dread Pirate and his crew still maintaining
their headshot accuracy; however, the horde did not enter the circle of light.
“Blast away, men! Blast away!” called Erragal. Unrelenting in their onslaught, the men kept firing, and
slowly the zombies backed away and into the shadows.
“Wait! Wait!” called John. “Look. They’re not entering the light.” The horde had ceased their howls, and
the castle’s chamber filled with a light, raspy breathing. John stepped to the edge of the green
illumination that shone from above, and the zombies faded into the shadows to hide. In the far dimness,
John began to make out their dead, expressionless faces. Their rapacious eyes gaped back at him.
“Cease fire!” called Xim. He stepped to the edge of the light with John. “By Solomon’s beard, will you
look at that.” The Dread Pirate squinted into the blackness beyond the edge and took in the red gore
shimmering on the zombies’ teeth and lips. His stomach churned, revulsed. “That’s it men, that’s it.
We’re safe.”
“Fer now,” retorted Silvermane.
“For now,” agreed Xim. “Take a breather everyone.” George and Finnbarr collapsed to the ground. The
clones, almost in unison, placed their hands on their knees and drew in large breaths. Silvermane
squatted to his haunches. Xim placed his hand on John’s shoulder.

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“Thank you, John. You saved our lives.”
“Not everyone’s.” Tears rolled down his face as he looked out into the black. He clenched his teeth, his
jaw muscles flexed, and he kept swallowing.
“Not now, John, we’ll mourn him when we’re out of this. We’re still in the battle. We need to figure out
our next step.”
The two men turned to look at the triangular entrance with the cold mist of Hevel blocking the passage
through. The men got up and began to congregate around the opening.
“Do you see it?” asked John.
“Only when you get close with the sword. It’s the same magik that covered the mural.”
“Hevel’s magik obscures her tracks…” started John. “From the mural at Elom, to the path through the
constellations, to the hidden castle, to the undead horde…the mist of Hevel covers all and cannot be
grasped. A cold invisible smoke of nothingness….” he whispered, “…that still obstructs our way.”
John tried to wave away the mist like he did at Elom, but this vapor was thicker. He pushed the tip of
Hevel’s sword into the mist and penetrated past the threshold.
“I think I can force my way in,” he said. The crew stepped back and Xim motioned for John to make an
attempt. The young Jedi Knight closed his eyes and dove deep into the Force. He pushed the sword
further into the mist and he began to press himself into the clear, swirling waves. The cool touch of
Hevel’s haze swallowed his face. He forced his shoulders in, and bending his knees, he planted his feet
and pushed forward with a mighty effort. He pressed his body ahead and began to make the long trek to
the end of the tunnel.
The cool waves fully wrapped him, sucking the breath from his lungs. His trek forward became an
attempt to swim upward from a too-deep dive. His memories fell to the training exercises he did with
his father as a Padawan. He was eight again and beneath the surface. His father’s face was looking down
at him through the water. Panic wanted to kick down the door of his heart and take control, but he
would not let it. He knew he was able to control his fear.
John opened his eyes and could see he was making progress, but the chamber’s golden light was still a
long way off. With both hands on the sword, he focused his energy into the blade, and it began to
vibrate. The sword’s emanations began to ripple away Hevel’s thick nothingness, and his effort to
penetrate deeper into the opening became easier. With a final push, groan, and exclamation of effort,

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John made it to the other side and collapsed into the chamber, exhausted. He let go of the sword and it
clanked onto the cold, stone surface. Sweat poured off his face.
On his hands and knees, John looked up and gazed all around him. It was different. The chamber did not
glow with the golden light of treasure like it did from the other side. An illusion.
But was it? The large chamber was
circular, with a massive dome above,
and along the sides John could see
that sitting in the room’s shadows
were gold and jewels. There were
chests filled with coins, and crystals
were strewn along the sides of the
walls.
Kyber crystals? he wondered. No,
something else.
John looked ahead, and centered
within a colossal dragon’s skull, was
an upright, oval-shaped, stone
sarcophagus, mystically balancing
upright on a dais. The stone tomb
glowed with a green light and a living
mist wisped all about. The skull’s jaws
were open, and its massive teeth
framed the ovoid sepulchre.
John got to his feet and picked up the
sword again. As he started toward the
altar, the light grew brighter, and the
dark voice spoke.

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 Chapter 9
Psychomachia

Come… come. Draw your blood upon the sword…the sword and slide the sword into the
stone…into the stone.

John approached the sepulchre cautiously. He climbed the dais softly and stepped into the open jaws of
the dragon’s skeletal mouth. Out of the corner of his eye a twinkling of metal caught his attention. He
looked over and saw that tucked into an alcove was a curious object, cylindrical and gilded in polished
chrome, resting on two supports, and about the size of a small starfighter engine.

Blood and stone… blood and stone the voice called. John drew his attention away from the
mysterious object and gazed again upon the pod-like tomb.
In his mind’s eye he saw what to do. He waited for a voice of caution to speak to him, but the Force
remained silent. He placed the sword of Hevel in his palm and pulled, then smeared his blood upon the
tip of the blade. He approached the glowing green pod and studied it further. A carved, vertical line ran
down its center, with smaller carved lines emanating outward. Near the base of the vertical line was an
opening. He slid his sword into the hole and the shaft of the weapon began to glow red.
A series of clicks rotated around the pod followed by hissing and then a thudding boom. Bright green
light shot out from the center line as it began to part, and the oval crypt slowly swung its doors open.
John stepped back off the dais and covered his eyes. Through squinted vision he watched the spectacle
unfold.
The light emanated around a shadowy body resting in a fetal position. Then the body’s legs bent to
touch the ground. Its arms reached out for the sides of the crypt, and slowly a figure stepped out.
“I can breathe…” said the mystical figure, a dark echo following her words.
John gazed upon the emaciated form of Darth Hevel. She opened her eyes. They burned a bright green
before fading into a clear yellow pupil. She shakily removed herself from her tomb and then stood
within the jaws of the dragon, her arms raised.
“Mist of power and veil of smoke, fill my being, cast off my cloak.”
A whoosh of Force-filled energy rushed out of Hevel like a bomb, emanating out in all directions. The
green mist that hovered all around her tomb rushed into her body and began to fill out her form. Her
face began to fill in and her near skeletal corpse began to grow plump with muscle. Her black leather
robes and clothes began to tighten around her, and John, after adjusting his eyes, could see she was
dressed in the fashion of the ancient Sith Lords of the Old Republic.
For a brief second, she looked at John, and then, ignoring him, stepped her way off the dais and turned
to face the massive dragon’s skull. She raised her arms in worship once more.
“Almighty StarCrow: God of Wisdom, God of Strength, prepare my path for the final task, that I may be
born again.”
She turned her attention to John.

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“The Power of this age knows that I am returned.”
She stepped closer to him, and he stepped back.
“You are the one chosen for me? Chosen by the God?”
“The God?” John asked.
“Lord StarCrow the Wise.” She paused and scrutinized the young man before her. “What is your name?”
John straightened his form. He took in the image of Darth Hevel. She appeared just like she did in the
mural on the wall at Elom: dressed in long leather gloves and shining black leather boots, her black
robes in the style of the ancient Sith were interlaced with red cloth beneath their folds and held closed
by an ornately decorated, brass colored belt. She also had what looked like a diamond jewel emitting a
most peculiar green glow that shone against her reddish-brown skin on an opulent chain hidden
beneath her layers of clothing.
“John Hawkins,” replied the youth.
“Hmmm,” was Hevel’s reply. “I saw you in my dreams, John Hawkins.” In a predatory manner she began
to circle the young Knight. “I saw what they did to you. To your father.” Her eyes drank him in. “You
have touched the same power that feeds me. This is good.” Slowly, cautiously, she stepped around him
like a dancer following a set of moves. John kept his eyes locked on her while she orbited. She circled
completely around him and made her way back before her stone tomb. “Though, I dreamed of many in
my slumber,” she said forlornly. “But you were the first to make it into my chamber. You forced your
way in like a worthy man.” She stopped and inhaled a deep breath through her nostrils, pulling bits of
John’s essence into her.
“An undefiled Knight.” Her eyes greedily gulped him in. “My Lord has sent me a beautiful body.” A small
grin began to climb her face.
“I…I…I’m not sure I understand.”
“I think you do.” Her grin was complete.
Darth Hevel bent down and grasped the hilt of her sword, embedded in the crypt. She wrapped one
hand along its long shaft and pulled it out of the hole. It sang a sharp song as it came out. She holstered
it in her empty sheath.
“My sword,” she said, as she looked at him. She gazed about her chamber. “My Godhead is near, but
there is one last step. What era is this, John?”
“Era?”
“The year?”
John paused a moment and tried to recall the date. He looked up at Darth Hevel before him and
squinted his eyes to focus, and then realized her cold magikal mist had surrounded him. He was unable
to think.
“Enough!” said the Knight, and with his own power in the Force he pushed away Hevel’s enveloping
grasp. He began to back up even more.
“Hmmm, some power I see...”
“The year?” he said, focusing his attention. “The year is 3658 ASC.”

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“ASC?” Darth Hevel stepped off her dais and began to approach him.
“After the sacking of Coruscant,” John replied, continuing to back up.
“The sacking…” Hevel’s brows furrowed. “Darth Malgus’s sacking of Coruscant you mean?” She began to
circle again.
“Yes.” John began to scan the treasure sprawled along the side of the room, looking for a weapon.
“A galaxy shattering event it seems, that the Republic used it as a demarcation of time. Fascinating.
But…” she paused to think, “I slumbered long. Too long.” With light steps she moved closer. “Perhaps
my ritual was too ornate…” She also looked to where John was looking.
“In there,” she pointed, “is another force sword from the Daritha’s treasure horde. Take it.” John looked
over to a pile of treasure.
“What you see in my chamber is what is left of Xim’s riches. This here is a paltry sum. I used much of it
for this moment.” With the Force she pulled a sword that was sunk into some gold coins and threw it
before John’s feet. It fell to the ground with a clatter. John picked it up and held the sword before him
defensively. He backed up to the entrance as Darth Hevel continued to approach.
“Immortality does not come cheap. The Daritha’s riches were important for the ritual, and sacrifices
needed to be made.” She smiled at this last part and backed John against the wall, ceasing her stalking.
She stood a short distance from him and fanned out her arms aggressively, but for a brief moment her
eyes rolled into the back of her head and her knees wobbled. She nearly fell over.
“Hmmm…” she said, coming to herself. “A powerful Dark Lord rules this era, and he has made himself
known, but…” Her hands began to glow blue with energy. “It is he who fears me. This Dark Lord that
rules has some power, but…” she inhaled the air again, “HE IS NO GOD!” She pulled her sword from her
scabbard and raised her arms in the air. John lifted his sword in response.
“In order to live I needed to die!” Her voice boomed out, not only within the chamber, but also in John’s
mind. “THIS SITH IMPOSTOR HAS NOT WALKED THE FINAL PATH! HE HAS NOT PASSED THE FINAL TRIAL!
HE HAS NOT TRAVELED THROUGH THE VALLEY OF DEATH!”
Her eyes began to glow with a bright green light.

HE HAS NOT TRAMPLED DEATH WITH DEATH she screamed, and the
walls of the chamber reverberated with her might.
“My Godhead is near, but there is one last step before I confront this pale power now in control. Come,
John. The Force has given you to me. You are mine, and you shall give up your flesh!”
Blue, electric lines of anger shot from her hands and sword of Darth Hevel and barreled into John. The
attack lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the back wall. Smoke wafted off him as he struggled
to stand.
“You are the ritual’s last step, John. You have obeyed the call to darkness. You have tasted the sweet
power of the Force’s full truth, not just one side.”
John stood up and raised the sword before him in defense. Hevel pulled back her arm and blasted him
with Force lightning once more. John also pushed out his hand, and for a brief moment managed to

141
absorb the energy she threw at him. Darth Hevel redoubled her effort and John slammed yet again
against the wall.
“Come, John, push back! You are rife with anger! Your hate makes you powerful! Your darkness makes
you sweet!”
John shakily got to his feet and took a deep breath. His skin was blistered and burned; his shirt torn with
charred holes.
“NO!” he cried with a mighty shout. “I…I…didn’t mean to! But they killed him! They killed him!” He
tossed down the sword, and crying aloud, volleyed out his own angry and chaotic strength into Hevel’s
body. Green bolts of wrath and strife struck Hevel, pushing her back, but unlike John, she was able to
stay on her feet.
“Oh, but yes you did! Look at you now! You drank from the well! You invited it in! Your anger comes
pouring out of you! Lord StarCrow chose you for me, and you are mine!”
Throwing all her might at the young Knight, she closed in on John and backed him against the entrance.
Force lightning rained from her fingertips and pummeled him to his knees. John sustained the attack and
managed to absorb the energy with the palms of his hands, his face contorting in pain and anguish, and
then finding his own strength in the Force, he stood up and began to fire back.
Lightning crackled and spun in every direction from the two combatants, both Force users absorbing,
deflecting, and discharging back at the other their materialized and deadly mysticism. With a resounding
boom, each flung the other across the room, where they crashed hard into the stone walls.
But Hevel was the first to her feet.
“The time has come!”
With a wave of her hand, she lifted John into the air and slammed him against the domed ceiling above.
He thudded with a crack, and then she pulled him down and crashed him against the floor. She raised
him again and kept him suspended in the air. With more ornate hand movements, she tore his tattered
shirt from his chest and ripped his pants and underclothes from his waist. John hovered in the air,
bloodied and burned, listless, naked, and defenseless against the Sith Lord.
“Come,” she commanded.
She pulled John’s body to her waiting palms. He flew through the air, and she wrapped her hands
around his throat and slammed him to the ground. Digging her nails into his skin, she pierced John with
more lightning and jolted every muscle in his body. His sinews constricted, contracted, and hardened;
every muscular inch of him grew erect with her dark energy. She lifted her robes over her knees,
mounted him, slid her hips down on his and forcefully thrust their bodies together.
“Ahhhhh!” she cried out as her eyes glowed green.
“Come my GODHEAD! COME!” She jolted him again and pressed her forehead to his while she squeezed
his neck and began to writhe.
“Here are the words for this great sacrifice!
You I invoke and beseech Bornless one.
You that did make the earth and the heavens.
You that did generate virtue and vice.

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 You that collected the moon and the sun.
You spoken of in the night of legends.
You that did spew the fire and ice.
You whom no one can outrun.
You whom only few beings have seen.
You who distinguish between just and unjust.
You who produced goodly seed in the fruit.
You shine as light, Your beauty obscene.
You made the male and female soul lust.
I am your Goddess, give me the grace to permute.
Hear me, oh spirits, so I may convene,
In Darth Hevel you may entrust!
I am She, Daritha Hevel, the immortal flame!
I am She, Daritha Hevel, the Bornless spirit!
I am She, the boundless grace of Bogan!
I have decreed this rite to stake my claim!
I’ve come to fruition the truest woman!
The Heart Girt with a Serpent is My Name!
I am your immortal writ!
Hear me, all spirits of the firmament!
Hear me, all essences of the ether!
Make every scourge obedient to me!
I invoke your terrible testament!
Hear me, Fanged God and shadowy expanse!
Hold to the words on which we did agree!
Make me anew, full truth’s armament!
Put me into this MAN!”
She shrieked and then finished.
Keeping her forehead pressed to his she squeezed the life from John’s body and struck his mind with her
full will. His breathing slackened to a faint wisp, and his heartbeat slowed as if frozen in time.
Like sands running through a newly flipped hourglass, her physical body began to slowly dissipate into
grains of green essence and enter into John. With a low whistling wind, her nature entered through his
mouth, his eyes, and his nose, John’s body convulsing and gagging as Hevel kept her writhing mount
upon him, fastened like steel bondage. From the green gem hung upon her neck, Hevel’s cold, mist
magik took ethereal form and glided out in searching tendrils. It entered John’s chest and slithered
through his skin into his heart.
John opened his eyes. He was no longer in Hevel’s chamber; he was laying on the ground, and recalling
he was still in a fight, he quickly got to his feet in anticipation of Hevel’s next attack; yet all was amiss, he
was on Viridis, at the cliff’s edge, and everything was gray and brushed over with a smokey wind.
He was between the two boulders he and his father had sat upon and where Sean Hawkins had
confessed to him that he was more than his Master. He looked behind him, over the edge, and below
was nothing but a swirling black abyss.
A noise rustled behind him. Turning, he looked to the tree line and there Darth Hevel emerged from the
shadows, her green gem glowing bright in the misty gray dark.

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“First your body, and now your soul. This is my home now, John.”
A monstrous growl echoed from the entire forest, and Darth Hevel bounded toward him on all fours like
a wild beast. He tried to side-step, but Hevel anticipated it. She smashed into him, slamming his back
against one of the boulders. The stone cracked at its base and began to slide as Hevel pushed with her
whole being.
John grasped onto her lapels and tried to gain his footing to kick her over, but inch by inch she bullied
him to the edge.
Hevel’s green gem grew brighter as John tipped over the precipice. The silent dread of the moment
pressed itself most forcefully upon the young Jedi Knight, and then an old and peaceful chord of soft,
whispering music strummed gently in the universe and reverberated most profoundly in his heart.
Find the path, John. Find the shatter point, called the voice of his father.
John focused on the gem hanging from Hevel’s neck. He grabbed it in one hand and poured his mind and
soul into its structure, and there he found its flaw. He called upon the love of the Living Force and struck
at the tiny crack. Bright red faults and fissures ran along its surface and glowed like molten lava. With a
sweeping internal intent, John shattered the glowing green gem.
A screech of pain and terror echoed out into the universe. Pain convulsed and undulated through John’s
whole being.
Then silence.
He gasped for breath and opened his eyes. He exhaled and the green particles of Hevel’s essence lifted
out of him and danced on the edges of his breath. He let out a soft whimpering cry.
He was in Hevel’s chamber again, on his back, looking up at the stone dome. Pain thudded in every
sinew and tendon. He lifted his head and looked down at his feet. Darth Hevel’s clothes and her sword
rested in a heap over his naked body.
He rolled to his side and onto his stomach. He got his knees under him and went to push off on his
hands but tipped over, off balance. Something dreadful had happened, and fear birthed itself in the pit
of his stomach. A deep, sickening wave of nausea washed over him. He lifted his left arm and looked on
in horror. Where his hand should have been was nothing but a smoking, cauterized stump.
He screamed and then gagged, and the sickness rushed up his throat. His stomach muscles contracted,
and he violently vomited out a thick, black ooze. He gagged, and convulsed, and retched all over the cold
stone floor. He propped himself up on his one hand and tucked his handless arm into his armpit. Black
ooze ran down his nose and out his eyes. He continued to vomit. He could not breathe, the black ooze
poured out of him so unceasingly.
“Help…” he whimpered out. He vomited more. “Help…”
A clatter of footsteps echoed behind him. “Help…” he sobbed again.
“John!”

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 Chapter 10
The Starry Cloak of The Daritha
John felt a gentle hand on his back, and then a careful grasp on his shoulder. He was on his hands and
knees heaving, the black ooze still pouring from his body. Then he heard the voice of Xim.
“John, careful now,” Xim whispered as he knelt next to him. He then turned to shout. “George! Get over
here! John needs our help.”
“The treasure of Hevel! It’s here!” called Silvermane as he wandered about Hevel’s lair, looking around.
“Gold and riches! We found it!” Silvermane ran to the side of the chamber and began stuffing his
pockets with coins. “By the Margrave of Togoria! We’re rich!”
Silvermane stole Xim’s attention for a moment, and the Dread Pirate was about to say something when
George ran over and knelt next to him and John. He flipped open the cover of his rucksack.
“I need bacta, boosters, and painkillers now.” George pulled out two blue injectors and another filled
with clear liquid. “Lay back,” Xim rested John’s neck in the crook of his arm and laid him on his back. He
jabbed all three injections into his shoulder, the small silver cylinders making a slight hiss as they
deposited their contents.
“Bacta should start healing right away. I also stuck you with something for the pain.” John opened his
eyes and could now clearly see the mask of the Dread Pirate Xim hovering over him. George’s unshaven
face was on the other side. “Can you sit up?”
“Yeah. I can feel the medicine working.” The young man sat up while George handed Xim John’s shirt.
Xim began to pull the shirt over his head while George began to pull John’s pants up his legs and drew
his boots onto his feet. Xim noticed the pile of black robes and lifted them in examination. Under the
robes was the sword of Darth Hevel. He lifted the sword and tilted his head quizzically at John.
“What happened here?” he asked. John tucked his stump under his armpit again.
“I fought Darth Hevel. She nearly… erased me.”
“Madness,” Xim replied. “Here, give me your hand.” John uncovered his arm and gave it over to Xim,
who began to wrap his cauterized stump in white gauze.
“How did you kill her?”
“I’m not certain. She…she…got in my head. It was some sort of… elaborate ritual.” Sitting up, he looked
all around him. “Kriffing hell, it stinks. I’m surrounded by…. filth.”
“Can you stand?”
“Yeah.” Xim got to his feet, then grasped John’s hand and pulled the young man up with him.
“Then what?”
John was on his feet now. “She bashed me against a wall, and got on top of me… I think.” He grimaced in
pain and disgust at the memory. “And then she was in my head. I was back at…” he trailed off and shook
his head. “Never mind. She was wearing a necklace, and I grabbed the gem on the necklace and blew it
apart, and then… I was sick everywhere.” He shook his head again. “It’s all… fuzzy images.”

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“Well, whatever you did certainly saved our skins. When you went inside the zombies came right to the
edge, but still wouldn’t penetrate the border. Then a giant concussion blast rocketed out of the chamber
and blew apart the zombies. And then George tried the tunnel, and we all ran in.”
John turned to see Silvermane, Finnbarr, and the three remaining mercenaries all stuffing their pockets
and rucksacks with gold and clear gems. He then turned and looked his way around the chamber.
“It looked different from the outside. It glowed with a golden light, and the chamber looked like it was
overflowing with gold. But it was an illusion. There is still some treasure here, but she said she spent the
majority of it on…” He waved his good hand out to everything around him, “all of this. It was part of a
Sith ritual.”
“Fascinating,” murmured the Dread Pirate, also taking in Hevel’s chamber of treasure. He shook his head
in disappointment. “Visely was right. About everything. The Despot, the Queen of Ranroon, Hevel. He
was right.”
Emotion caught in John’s chest. Tears welled in his eyes. “I should’ve…. I needed to….”
“John… let’s take stock and get out of here. We’re going to honor him when we get back to the ship and
sort ourselves out. Maybe find some next of kin and hand over some casks.” Xim held his hand on his
shoulder, and then turned to the rest of the crew.
“All right, men! It’s time to gather what’s left. Head back to the Wolf-
Cat and go fetch the gravsleds23. We’ll load up what’s here!” He turned
to his wrist comm. “Fiji, we’ve made it to the treasure room. Bring down
the Fairwind and we’ll begin loading her up.” There was no response.
He tried again. “Fiji, come in.” Silence greeted him once more. 23
Across the room, Erragal’s own holoprojector vibrated in his pocket,
indicating a message was waiting.
Xim shrugged, “Must be some technical difficulties.”
“We’re on it, Captain!” called Erragal. He grabbed Sargon and Martu and pulled them away from the
treasure. He spoke to them in a low whisper, “Let’s go. Our moment is almost here.” Sargon and Martu
straightened up and looked at Erragal. He motioned for them to follow. The three clones then began to
jog out of the treasure room.
“Hey!” shouted Silvermane as he looked up from his pockets. He started toward them. “You three need
to follow me!” He caught up with the clones and the quartet made their way out, while Finnbarr
straggled behind.
Xim made his way to the dais, while John followed. George turned to inspect the treasure.
The Dread Pirate took in the scene before him: a stone, pod-like sarcophagus on a raised floor sitting in
the mouth of a giant dragon’s cranium. “Look at that skull. It’s massive. What sort of creature is that?”
“She turned to worship it when she came out of her tomb,” said John, slowly shuffling toward Xim, “She
said it was StarCrow.”
Xim turned in surprise to look at him. “From the mural?”
“The same, I suppose.”

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“Magik. The old god himself…” Xim climbed the steps and placed his hand on one of the massive fangs
piercing upward from the lower mandible.
“We’ll need to take this with us. We could make a fortune selling this to the right buyer. Once I manage
to get Fiji on the comms and we haul up what’s left of Hevel’s treasure, we’ll get the crew down here
and start to…” A glint of metal caught the corner of Xim’s eye. “What is that?” He made for one of the
alcoves, “that can’t be.” He spied something metal in the shape of a tapered cylinder. It was gilded in
polished chrome and resting on two supports. It was about the same size as a small starfighter’s engine.
The object sat forlorn in a small, shadowy, semicircular stone room. He entered under an arched
entrance and stood next to the device. He gently brushed his hands over its surface, clearing away the
dust and debris that had settled over centuries. “John, do you know what this is?”
“I have no idea.”
“This is Rakatan technology. This is a cloaking device. An ancient cloaking device. By Solomon’s
beard…it’s the Starry Cloak of Xim the Despot. Not an actual cloak as Visely thought, but a piece of
tech.” He trailed off, rubbing his hands over the magical piece of equipment. He began to feel around it,
eventually uncovering some panels at the bottom and discovering its inputs. He began to whisper. “This
is…it’s remarkable.”
The sound of clinking crystals echoed in the distance of the circular stone room.
“Captain! Look!” George held up some large clear gems. “Stygium crystals!”
“By Solomon’s beard… this chamber is littered with them!” Xim turned from the cloaking device, made
his way over to George and began to handle the crystals himself. John followed.
“This is the real treasure, gentlemen.” Xim held up a crystal and gave it a close inspection. “This needs to
be the first thing we load up. I reckon we have hundreds of millions of credits here. This is rarer than
kyber.” He looked at John, “If we get this device installed into the Fairwind, the Dread Pirate Xim will
know no limits.”
Xim activated his comms.
“Silvermane. Bones. Are you nearing with the gravsleds?”
Silvermane and the clones were running over the dusty plain where they had fought the zombie horde,
but no evidence of a battle was left on the pitch, the bodies of the undead having disappeared like dust
in the wind. The clear sky revealed the twinkling of stars, and the system’s sun had just set over the
horizon. On the other side of the heavens a large, orange moon rose over the mountains. Silvermane
slowed down his jog and pulled back on the three clones. He called out, “Ye run ahead, Finnbarr and
prep the equipment.” The Mon Calamari nodded and continued his run to the Wolf-Cat.
Silvermane answered his comm, “Aye, Capt'n, but we’re still a ways off. Ye three have ta deal with the
door debris at the entrance, otherwise it’ll be a chore to get the sleds over the obstacles, nevermindin’
the stairs.”
“Copy, Silvermane, we’re on it.”
Silvermane deactivated his comm and watched Finnbarr continue his jog. He turned to the clones and
placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“It’ll be time to do yer jobs soon. Ye three still got the guts to go through with it?”

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Erragal furtively placed his hand on his pocket, where his holoprojector was stored. He looked to his two
remaining companions. Sargon and Martu nodded at him.
“Silvermane,” Erragal began, exasperated. “We’ve been in since the start. Half my crew is dead. We’re
not backing out now. You can take your hand off your weapon.”
Silvermane straightened up and removed his hand from his hilt.
“Glad to hear it,” he said, with a tinge of sheepishness. He rolled his shoulders back and put his hands on
his hips. “When we’ve loaded up the treasure, I’ll tell George to take the copilot’s seat. Ye positions
yerselves around the Jedi, and as soon as I give the nod, you two kill the boy and the Mon Calamari, I’ll
shoot Xim and George.” The clones nodded and the four continued their way to the Wolf-Cat.
Stacked in the corner of the shuttle’s cargo hold were a collection of gravsleds. Each man lifted one from
the stack, activated its magnetic repulsors, and took hold of its handles. Erragal waited for Silvermane
and Finnbarr to collect their sleds first and begin trucking their way back to the castle. Sargon and Martu
understood the cue. When Silvermane and Finnbar were off in the distance, the swirling dust of the
battle plain swallowing them up, Erragal turned to his companions.
“Hydan is here.” He pulled his holoprojector from his pocket and turned it on. The blue holograph of
Minister Hydan’s living bust came to life over the palm of his hand, and the recorded message began.
“Captain CT-6166 of the 276th Clone Battalion, colloquially referred to as Erragal. I have arrived at the
coordinates you sent. We have boarded and disabled the communications of the Corvette class gunship
in orbit and have restrained the pilot and tactical droid. Lord Vader’s inquisitors will be joining us within
a day. The Dark Lord himself has dispatched them to collect the Jedi Padawan and retrieve what you
have found. It is my expectation that you’ll keep all conspirators alive. Ensure the Jedi is suitably
restrained, and Xim and his crew are properly imprisoned. I have some questions for the Dread Pirate.
Hydan out.”
“Inquisitors?” Martu replied, astonished.
“Those dark Jedi from the HoloNet reports?” asked Sargon.
“We must have hit upon something big,” said Martu.
“I doubt it. You saw the treasure; it was something, but not so big as to get the Emperor’s attention. But
Vader’s inquisitors. That’s big. It’s John they’re coming for,” replied Erragal. He placed his hands on his
hips and shook his head in frustration.
“Kriff!” he shouted. “I really wanted to be the one who…” He grabbed a gravsled and slammed it to the
floor.
“…finish the mission,” replied Sargon, sympathetically.
“It’s out of our hands now, Captain,” he continued. “Look, we’ll enact Silvermane’s plan as he laid it out,
except we’ll make sure to bury some stun blasts into the back of that beast’s head. There’ll be some
satisfaction there.”
Erragal placed his hands on the gravsled’s handles, “Not nearly enough.” He began to push the sled
down the ramp. “C’mon. Let’s finish the mission.”

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Within the hour the crew had returned to the treasure room with the collection of sleds. Working
together they loaded up the cloaking device and gathered the stygium crystals, then, running across the
dusty plain, the team made it back to the Wolf-Cat with their loot.
Xim sat in the captain’s seat, and as promised, Silvermane encouraged George to copilot their way back
to the Fairwind. The remainder of the crew sat stuffed into the shuttle’s cargo hold, the cloaking device
and the stygium crystals taking up most of the space. Silvermane positioned himself behind Xim and
George, while Erragal, Sargon, and Martu situated themselves uncomfortably close to John and
Finnbarr.
“Fiji, come in,” called Xim as he handled the ship’s controls and powered up her engines. The white
noise of static answered him on the other end. The Wolf-Cat’s engines came to life and blasted the loose
rock across the planet’s surface as the ship ascended into the atmosphere.
“We’ll take this load up,” began Xim to the crew, “and unload it in the cargo bay. Once we figure out
what’s disrupting communication, we’ll take the Fairwind down and begin loading what’s left of Hevel’s
lair.” The ship entered the dark of space and began speeding toward the Fairwind. “We’ll get our tools
to dislodge that skull and sarcophagus from…” he broke off as he spied the large ship docked next to the
Fairwind. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing.
At that precise moment, in the back of the shuttle and pressed against the cargo from Hevel’s lair,
Erregal brushed his body against one of the containers and accidently activated the holoprojector in his
pocket. His pocket glowed a light blue and a faint, recorded message whispered out from it:
“Captain CT-6166 of the 276th Clone Battalion, colloquially referred to as Erragal. I have arrived at the
coordinates you sent. We have boarded and disabled the communications of the Corvette class…”
He frantically began to slam his hand against his thigh to end the message and locked eyes with John
while also reaching for his blaster.
“Erragal?”
“Captain Xim!” yelled George, “An Imperial Light cruiser!”
Xim felt the hard tip of a blaster slip up the rear of his helmet and dig into the back of his skull.
“I’ve been waitin’ fer this moment fer a long time!”
Multiple blaster shots rang out and reverberated off the walls of the cramped shuttle.
Silvermane collapsed forward and crashed onto the Dread Pirate. Stunned and in disarray, Xim shoved
the Togorian off him and turned around to see Erragal, Sargon, and Martu standing over the
unconscious bodies of John and Finnbarr.
“Bones! What the…”
The blood-red clad warriors entered the cockpit with blasters drawn and fired.

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 Chapter 11
The Revelation of John
Xim opened his eyes and emerged from the darkness. He was on his stomach, face down, with his hands
cuffed behind his back. He gazed out and was greeted by a blur of light. Then he suddenly felt two hands
roughly dig into the back of his armpits and haul him to his feet. Attempting to look past his throbbing
headache, his eyes focused in on the readouts from his heads-up display, and he turned to see two
death troopers on either side of him.
Forcefully yanking him from the Wolf-Cat, with his feet dragging on the floor by their tips, they hauled
him out of the shuttle and into the familiar cargo bay of the Fairwind. A full company of Imperial
stormtroopers stood scattered about the space, and an Imperial Sentinel-class shuttle stood parked at
the side of the room.
As they were hauling him to what appeared to be an old man in a hooded robe, Xim could see Hevel’s
cloaking device and the stygium crystals unloaded and on display for the antiquated figure to peruse.
The black-armored death troopers struck Xim with a violent strike of a stun baton behind his knees,
dropping him before the veiled shadow, and then one by one the Imperials hauled out the remainder of
his crew; all except the traitorous mercenaries—they strolled out with their chins in the air and their
blasters erect.
After the clones came Geroge and Finnbarr. They were pulled out in similar fashion to Xim, both
receiving the requisite blows to the back of the knees, and each man was placed at the side of the Dread
Pirate.
Pouring out from the Wolf-Cat came a scream of curses and a howl of pain, followed by the thudding of
boots on a body. Two Imperial troopers yanked at stun lassos on poles. They were cinched around
Silvermane’s neck to drag him out of the shuttle like a feral beast. They continued to activate the
electronic lariats while pulling the flailing Togorian from the ship.
“I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU!” he howled.
The death troopers responded by igniting the loops again. A jolt of pain shot through Silvermane’s body
and promptly silenced his cries. They pulled him to the lineup of men on their knees, beat the back of his
legs, and placed him before the robed figure.
“Silvermane! You dirty scrugg!” said Xim. “It’ll be I who will do all the killing around here! As soon as I
clear these Imperial scumbags from my ship, I’m coming for you, you traitorous pile of sithspit.”
Silvermane responded with a low growl. “Ye just watch yer own back, Xim. I’ll get outta this ‘fore you
do!”
“Mark my words, you Togorian serf: I will mount your head on my wall.”
A clang resounded in the back of the Wolf-Cat, grabbing the men’s attention. The four prisoners looked
over their shoulders as they watched the death troopers pull out the last body. Cuffed with a different
set of restraints, and tethered to stun lassos like Silvermane, the death troopers dragged John from the
ship, the young man still coming to his senses.
“John!” called Xim. “Steady-up man! We’ll be taking action soon!”
It was the steady-up that caught John’s attention. It was one of Sean Hawkin’s colloquialisms, and
something his father would say to him before a fight. It lit a fire in him, and regaining his senses, John

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focused his eyes. Hidden in the distance through a multiple murder of stormtroopers, and peeking out
from behind a shipping container, he saw Visely’s little astromech, Arby, sheepishly poke his head
around a corner. He silently bounced on his pads, and reading the little droid’s body language, John
shook his head in the negative, as if to say No, Doctor Visely is not with us. The little astromech’s chest
cavity opened and a shiny circular saw on a metal arm folded out, at which John nodded affirmingly.
The hooded figure pulled himself from his examination of the cloaking device and gems and stood
before the kneeling men. He held the sword of Darth Hevel and gave it a long inspection, his eyes
running up and down its blade.
“So, the famous Dread Pirate Xim,” started Hydan, as he examined the sword. “The man of legend. He
robs from the rich and gives to the poor. He frees the captives from bondage. How...heroic.”
“Minister Hydan, I presume. Doctor Visely told me about you.”
“Hmm, yes. And where is the good doctor?” He waved the tip of the sword around searchingly.
“Dead. Ripped apart by Hevel’s zombies.” Hydan’s faced curled in disgust.
“Pity. It’s a shame he was not present at his vindication. It turns out he was correct. About everything.”
Hydan moved down the line toward John.
Xim glanced to his right to look at the Jedi Knight. The young man’s eyes were centered on Arby in the
distance, but he quickly looked up at Hydan so as not to give the little droid up.
“The Jedi Padawan. In one piece. Well done, Clone Captain CT-6166.” Erregal nodded proudly. “Lord
Vader will be pleased.”
Hydan made his way back before Xim. “There is so much to unpack here, Xim, both literally and
figuratively.” Hydan placed his hand beneath the chin of Xim’s helmet and lifted it teasingly. Xim yanked
his head back.
“Yes, the mysterious Dread Pirate Xim. The centuries old enigma.” Hydan smiled and chuckled
sarcastically. “I suggest you cooperate, Xim. Your best outcome may simply be to spend the rest of your
days in an Imperial prison. Your first mate has betrayed you, and both the Hutts and the Zygerians will
no doubt begin a bidding war once they learn I have you in custody.”
Silvermane shifted his weight and was met with a surge of pain from the death troopers. Hydan turned
sharply to the Togorian.
“And you, you vile beast; I hope the irony of your own mercenaries for hire betraying you is not lost on
you. If you make another spazmatic move like that, animal, I’ll order my men to empty your pea brain
out onto the floor.”
He turned back to Xim, and his demeanor quickly shifted from murderous authoritarian back to mild-
mannered scholar. Hydan looked around the cargo bay with his hands outstretched. “Let us take a
moment to take in our surroundings, gentlemen. Here we stand onboard the Fairwind, ship of history
and legend. How did you find her?”
Xim remained silent.
“Your restoration job is second to none, Xim. I commend you on the care and craftsmanship poured into
her. She was lost millenia ago at the battle of Ruusan, along with her Jedi entourage. Please tell me, Xim,
from which forlorn corner of the galaxy did you resurrect her? I must know her story.”

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Xim silently looked past Hydan and took stock of how many Imperials were in his cargo hold. He counted
seventy-five. He also quickly glanced past the undisturbed shipping container he brought from Iego.
“No matter. My men are currently working their way into your quarters to retrieve what other jewels of
history you are hiding there, and the information I seek is naught but an interrogation droid away.” He
turned to look at the cloaking device again.
“This whole expedition into Wild Space has yielded great treasure for the glory of the Empire. You have
found quite the horde of stygium crystals. This must have been the treasure Hevel retrieved from the
Despot’s Queen of Ranroon. These are rarer than kyber. And worth probably hundreds of millions on the
black market.”
Silvermane’s ears perked up and he looked at the horde of gems.
“Your find will give the Imperial Navy an unstoppable advantage. I also applaud you on your sturdy
security, Captain. My stormtroopers report it will be a while before they break through. But not to
worry, I’ve ordered them to enter gently. We shouldn’t mar such a piece of history now, should we?”
Hydan turned to the lead death trooper beside him.
“Do another sweep of the cargo hold, Lieutenant. The Dread Pirate’s eyes drank in something.”
He smiled sardonically at Xim.
“Bear in mind, Xim, your fate rests in my hands. You seem to be a learned man of history, no? We
needn’t be adversaries. But indulge me, Dread Pirate: let me see if I’ve put the pieces of your journey
together correctly.”
Hydan rubbed his hands together, and his eyes looked up searchingly as if collecting all the pieces. He
then locked in on Xim’s visage.
“Your journey to Darth Hevel’s treasure started with your robbery of Grakkus the Hutt, yes? You stole
the sword of Hevel, and the missing pages of Penweld’s journal, but did not really understand what you
had at first. In your defense, neither did Grakkus. But being a well-read man, specifically, since you’ve
engaged with the encyclopedic works of Doctor Visely, you put the pieces together and found the place
to start the treasure hunt—the voxyn constellation, as highlighted in Penweld’s book. Admittedly,
where to begin initially escaped me as well, but that was soon figured out, no? So, you first needed to go
to Elom to investigate one of Hevel’s known temple sites, because where to go next, beyond voxyn,
escaped you. And with the sword of Hevel in hand, you discovered the secret map painted on the wall
by the Sith Lord herself.” Hydan’s eyes shone with excitement as he wove his tale.
“Now armed with this information, you inexplicably went to find Visely. But why, I ask? You could have
done it without him. Was it some sort of debt you felt you owed him for his work?”
Hydan paused to give Xim a chance to respond.
“Hmmm, no matter. At some point your first mate hired a crew of mercenaries, and then the most
serendipitous event occured: they contacted me, out of the blue. Quite stunning when you pause to
think about it.” He smiled and looked back and forth at the kneeling men. “It was at this fortuitous
crossroads that our stories came together.” Hydan looked at John. “The Force works in mysterious ways,
does it not, John Hawkins?” He grinned at the young man. “And not just any mercenaries reached out to
me, oh no: it was the captain of your own contingent and his men. The men who rightly executed your
traitorous father!” He clenched his fist as he roared out the word traitorous.

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John went red in the face, his eyes blazing as a raging fire. Quickly massive jolts of energy ran through
his body and continued for a torturous length, as the death troopers tightly pressed the triggers on their
stun poles.
“Now, now, boy, we shall deal with you momentarily.”
He then turned to Xim to finish his tale.
“You collected Visely and pooled your knowledge, and inexplicably picked up this Jedi Padawan in the
process, and then, in your travels, you laid waste to Nym of Lok.” Hydan raised his index finger in the air
and waved it a little. “Oh yes, I found his bloodied corpse, and your note. It hit its mark by the way.
Grakkus was not amused,” he smiled. “But I was.” He clapped his hands and rolled out a soft chuckle.
Then his eyes narrowed once more.
“And then using the constellation map found at Hevel’s temple, you managed to correctly plot your way
through the uncharted wilderness of Wild Space. Again, I commend you, Xim—this was no small feat of
navigation, no doubt you did it with the help of the tactical droid we restrained. The genius of the
Confederacy’s engineering goes too understated these days, does it not?”
Hydan turned his attention to George, “You, fatty! Did I get it right?”
George flinched, shocked the attention had suddenly fallen on him, and quickly turned his gaze from
Hydan to the floor.
“Hmmm, yes. Seems I did.”
Moving his eyes back to Xim he gave him a hard look.
“Xim, listen to me now. Vader wants the boy. The Emperor wants the Sith knowledge down on the
surface. Me, I want the archaeological gems down on the surface. You are simply an afterthought—a
dirty pirate that can be wiped out. I can keep you out of an Imperial prison, Xim, or worse—from
execution.” He crept closer to the Dread Pirate and leaned in, face to mask. He spoke in a low whisper.
“We needn’t be enemies, Xim. Tell me about what happened down there. Tell me about the undead
forces, about Hevel’s lair. Tell me how Hevel used Scabrous’s magik. Did you see a Murakami orchid?
Tell me about Xim the Despot’s treasure horde.” He leaned in
closer still, “I’ll be taking a small team down shortly, no one 24
knows what is down there precisely—except you, of course.
There is plenty of gold, yes?”
Xim remained stoic. A long pause of silence squeezed between
their faces. Suddenly Hydan’s holocomm rang to life. The old
man dipped into his robes and produced a disk that rested in
the palm of his hand. He activated it, and a blue translucent
image of a white faced Pau’an male hovered.
“Minister Hydan,” the man said coldly.
“Grand Inquisitor24,” Hydan gave a small differential nod.
“Lord Vader commands that I bring the Jedi Padawan to
Coruscant, along with the retired clone soldiers responsible for his capture. You are to personally bring
all artifacts discovered on the surface, including the pirate’s vessel, to the Emperor’s storehouse on

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Wayland. By order of the Emperor, you are to execute all remaining criminals for the crime of piracy,
effective immediately.”
“It shall be done, Grand Inquisitor. Hydan out.” Hydan blew an exhausted sigh, as if his plans had been
thwarted.
“It seems we have run out of time, Xim. The Grand Inquisitor shall be here any moment.” He waved over
Erragal. “Clone Captain CT-6166, before you begin the executions remove the helmet of the Dread
Pirate Xim. I’d like to see who, or what, is behind the mask.” Erragal aggressively marched over to Xim
with his blaster pointing at his head.
“I guess that’s my cue,” replied Xim.
“Your what?” replied Hydan.
Xim straightened his posture. “Engage operation rescue.”
A loud series of explosions echoed through the cargo hold, followed by a slow creak of metal and a
deafening clang. Smoke lifted from the sides of the giant shipping container, its long side wall collapsing
onto the floor. Every eye in the room focused on the source of the sound, and each man’s eyes searched
wildly within the darkness of the container. Whirring mechanical noses began to echo out, and within
the darkness a giant red eye activated.
ZAP ZAP ZAP ZAP ZAP ZAP ZAP ZAP
Laser bolts shot from the blackness and three commando droids came flipping out of the container,
their blaster rifles burying their marks into the chests of the flat-footed Imperial soldiers.
Large ground shaking steps came after them, sending shockwaves through the hold, and from the
darkness of the container a massive mechanical monstrosity crab-walked out.
“Scorpenek annihilator droid25!” screamed Sargon.
“HOLY KRIFF!!!! Fire Fire Fire!”
All at once everyone ran in every direction.
The cargo bay rang out with noise, screams, military orders, and
blaster fire.
The annihilator droid’s ray shield quickly switched to life. It fell to its
quad-legged haunches, unfurled its two double-laser cannons with
threatening clicks, and absorbed the blistering assault of enemy
blaster fire; the Imperial’s laser bolts dissipated into twinkling,
25
pathetic pops as they hit the shield.
Within the annihilator’s own visual systems read-out, the gigantic
Colicoid-like droid did a facial scan of the room, and highlighting with red and green internal graphics,
quickly determined friend from foe.
Bright lights exploded from the droid’s blaster tips, and spear-sized lasers launched from the droid’s
barrels with a resonating BOOM BOOM, piercing straight through the death troopers holding John’s
restraints. They tipped over slowly without making a sound, the smoke of their scorched flesh making
vortices in the open holes of their chests.

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“Minister, run!” The lead death trooper aggressively grabbed Minister Hydan by the hood and began to
quickly whisk him toward the Imperial shuttle as a barrage of blaster fire zipped overhead. “All troopers
to the cargo hold! All troopers to the cargo hold!” he bellowed into his comms. In the commotion, the
Minster dropped the sword of Hevel and it clattered fortuitously at Xim’s feet.
The soldiers holding Silvermane’s stun ropes dropped their restraints and focused their fire on the
behemoth spidering its way to their location. Silvermane body-checked one to the floor and began to
run for the Wolf-Cat they had arrived in.
Xim, George, John, and Finnbarr all followed suit, and in the cacophony of noise and blaster fire, the
group dashed for the shipping containers tucked away in the corner of the hold. Seeing his blade
present itself to him, Xim took hold of his weapon before he made his escape.
In the distance, Arby watched his friends run for cover. Knowing he was their only means of escape, he
sped his way through the firefight, laser bolts zinging past his little astromech body, whirring and trilling
calls of encouragement as he sped across the cargo bay floor. Within the corners of his own optical
readouts, he watched Silvermane make his way to the ramp of the Wolf-Cat and tumble his way up.
After the initial shock of trading fire with one of the deadliest droids created by the Confederacy of
Independent systems, the Imperial troops fell to their academy training and recalled their tactical
exercises of engaging with droid combatants. Several of them unclipped thermal detonators from their
belts and rolled them across the cargo bay floor to the feet of the droid, making sure they rolled it with
just enough kinetic energy for the incendiary to make it through the ray shield. To their horror, the B2
battle droids standing next to the annihilator were also familiar with the tactic, and promptly kicked the
grenades back at them.
The bombs ignited in a series of explosions while the Imperial soldiers dove for cover. More smoke filled
the hold, and the Fairwind’s fire suppression system switched to life and began to rain down a mixture
of water and chemicals from the sprinkler system above.
“Here comes Arby now,” said Xim as water rushed down on them. He and his companions stood hidden
along the side of one of the shipping containers, still bound, with their hands behind their backs. Within
moments the little astromech found his friends and unfurled his circular power saw. The spinning blade
came to life with a high-pitched whirring, and seconds later metal sparks flew all around. Arby cut his
way through Xim’s stun cuffs, and then was quickly also through George’s, Finnbarr’s, and John’s.
“Arby, we need weapons! Head to the Wolf-Cat and grab whatever you can. Then head to the bridge
and rescue Fiji and Ahab, we need to take back the ship.” The droid tweeted to the affirmative and sped
off for the parked Wolf-Cat.
But back at the Wolf-Cat Silvermane was hatching his own escape plan. Having already freed himself
from his restraints, he made for the bridge and began to power up the ship’s engines. Then suddenly, in
the midst of its fight with the Imperials, the annihilator droid turned its attention on him through the
cockpit window. For the briefest of seconds, the droid kept its cannons focused on the Togorian, before
just as abruptly turning its weapons away from him and reengaging the Imperials. A most innocuous
thought popped into Silvermane’s mind: before the crew left for the surface, he’d seen Xim put his bio-
signature into a datapad connected to the container.
He watched through the cockpit window as the annihilator droid began to corral the Imperials into a
corner and relentlessly massacre them. Suddenly Hydan’s shuttle ignited its engines and took off out of
the hold. A large smile crept across the Togorian’s face.

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“Hundreds of millions of credits, he said. I will be King of Togoria yet.”
Back at the shipping containers, John peeked around a corner to watch the annihilator droid picking off
the stormtroopers. He scanned the scene for the clones but could not find them, thinking perhaps they
had escaped with Hydan.
“What now, Captain?” asked George.
“We sit tight. My insurance policy is coming through...” Over the din of blaster fire, they heard the
ignition of a ship’s engines, and watched as Hydan’s shuttle blasted overhead, piercing through the
meniscus of the Fairwind’s cargo bay ray shield. “...And it seems Hydan has left us.”
John felt a disturbance in the Force, and heard soft, padded footsteps overhead.
“Captain Xim!”
From the darkness above, Silvermane leaped from the top of the shipping container and tackled Xim.
The sword of Hevel flew from his grip and clattered out into the open bay.
“Your time has come, Xim! The Fairwind and the crystals are mine!” He grabbed Xim with both hands
and slammed him against a container. Xim crashed against the wall and collapsed to the floor, the wind
knocked out of him. John leaped on the Togorian’s back and wrapped his arm around his neck in an
attempted chokehold, but Silvermane vice-gripped his injured stump and quickly shucked him off. John
flew from the Togorian’s back and was tossed from the cover of the shipping containers out into the
open bay.
“The tide has turned!” Silvermane screamed as he bounded onto a laid-out Xim and dug his claws into
his ribs. The Dread Pirate bellowed out a cry of pain. Silvermane then lifted him over his head, and was
about to slam him against the wall again, when George and Finnbarr ran headlong and tackled the white
brute. The group landed upon each other in a ruck of arms and legs, but Silvermane was the first to kick
and backhand his way out.
With space now between them, Xim rolled to one knee and looked up. George and Finnbarr stood
before him defensively, their fists raised in the air, ready to continue the fight.
“Don’t make me laugh,” mocked Silvermane. “The Imps be all but dead and yer droid won’t shoot me.
Me time has come.” He ran full speed on all fours and swatted George and Finnbarr to the side. They
slammed against the shipping container walls and collapsed, but Xim was ready for the assault. As
Silvermane charged, Xim anticipated his kinetic energy and rolled with the Togorian’s tackle.
Maneuvering his legs around Silvermane’s neck, he locked his limbs around his head and squeezed with
a foot locked under his knee. Now in a full mount, Xim began to rain down hammer-fists onto
Silvermane’s face, doing all he could to smash in his skull.
As George and Finnbarr began to come to, Arby zipped by the two of them, frantically waving a
vibrosword in each appendage. He tossed the swords at their feet and then took off for the cargo bay
door, intent on making it to the bridge to rescue Fiji and Ahab and fulfill the second half of Xim’s
command to him.
Silvermane didn’t even try to stop Xim’s fists. Though the pirate was making a bloody mess of his face,
he simply outstretched his long arms, wrapped his massive white claws around Xim’s throat, and began
to squeeze.
“Ye got no beskar ‘round yer neck now, do ye?”

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He jabbed the claws of his thumb into Xim’s throat and pushed up under his jaw. He pierced past the
thick layer of kevlar cloth worn under his armor.
“...Just a thick hide is all.”
Xim began to gurgle, and under his helmet, blood began to run out of his mouth. His hammer-fists
slowed, and Silvermane slowly took control. The large beast came to his feet, fully outstretched his
arms, lifted Xim into the air, and then with all his strength, violently shook him.
A bone snapped and Xim went limp.
Silvermane tossed Xim’s body to the side, and as Xim collapsed in a heap, he looked up to see Finnbarr
before him, sword held at the ready.
He exhaled impatiently, “That ain’t no chef’s blade, Finn, but I’ll oblige ye.”
With blood dripping from his claws Silvermane was about to run at Finnbarr, when suddenly a blade
pierced through his chest.
Silvermane howled and frantically reached his arms behind his back, trying to pull at the sword
protruding through his body. He turned to see George behind him. The fat engineer had snuck up
behind the Togorian with that silent Jedi deftness he bragged of.
“George! You dirty SCRUGG!”
“Now, Finn!”
Finnbarr came charging at Silvermane and haphazardly swung. Silvermane blocked with his forearms,
but the sword found its mark, cutting deeply into his appendages. Raging in bloodlust, Silvermane
leaped onto Finnbarr and sunk his teeth into his throat, ripping and pulling. George ran in from behind
to help, pulled the blade from Silvermane’s body, and began to attack once more.
Silvermane tore at Finnbarr’s body like a wild voxyn, and as George stood behind and swung, the
massive white Togorian, with blood dripping down his jowls and the flesh of Finnbarr’s throat dangling
from his teeth, turned and fell on George like a hungry predator.
There was nothing George could do. Silvermane pounced on him and the Togorian’s might was too
great. As George fought and tried to wrestle out from under Silvermane’s body, his legs kicking
frantically, Silvermane clamped down on his throat and held George in a predatory grip, the same way
his ancient ancestors had done to their enemies; the way the King of Togoria did to his.
George stopped kicking.
Silvermane lifted himself off George’s bloody corpse and looked down to see blood spurting from the
open wound in his chest. He shakily turned, brought his attention to the open cargo bay, and watched as
the annihilator droid finished off the remaining Imperial troops and completed its mission. Off in the
distance he could see John engaging with the traitorous mercenaries he himself had hired.
“Kriffing….scruggs….I’ll” he began to stumble toward them. “I’ll…kill them, and John, and then...” He
slurred out. “I’ll… be King of Togor...” he collapsed.

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Moments earlier, after Silvermane had tossed John off his back, the Jedi Knight had flown face-first and
slammed his chin into the floor. When he’d opened his eyes the sword of Hevel was right before him.
Blaster bolts had pierced all around him and dug black carbon scoring into the flooring. As he looked up
Erragal, Sargon, and Martu were closing in.
“ERRAGAL!” shouted John. He reached out and grabbed the sword of Hevel, rolling and dodging away
from the clones’ attacks. The clones’ movements mimicked their assault years earlier on Viridis, and a
primordial anger triggered within the Jedi’s heart.
Coming to his feet, John held the sword before him. He called upon the Force and the music of that
ancient energy field filled his being and penetrated seductive sounding tones deep into his sinews.
Loud, reverberating, and ominous music fed his anger and an internal orchestra of revenge crescendoed
into his heart and mind.
“ERRAGAL!” he bellowed again.
The clones arranged themselves into a triangle formation, Sargon and Martu pressing forward and
Erragal standing behind them. Their blaster tips wafted out steam as they fired unceasingly, determined
to execute the Emperor’s orders; but on this day John deflected their barrage.
Gathering his strength in the Force, John unleashed a wall of whoosing energy, knocking his enemies off
their feet. The clones momentarily stunned, John took his opportunity and leaped.
“ERREGAL!” he cried again.
“Do you remember me? You knew me as John Devereux!” With his wounded limb he lifted Sargon off
the floor with the Force and put his body between himself and the two other clones as they continued
to fire.
“YOU KILLED MY FATHER! I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!” he aggressively Force-pulled Sargon to the tip of
his sword and ran him through. The clone dropped off his blood-soaked blade, and in an instant John
bounded before Martu.
“ERREGAL!” he cried again, anger-soaked tears dripping down his face.
“DO YOU REMEMBER ME? MY NAME IS JOHN HAWKINS: SON OF SEAN HAWKINS! YOU KILLED MY
FATHER! I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!” Martu attempted to back away and shoot, but like his brother
before him, he was skewered by the Jedi’s sword.
Water continued to pour from the Fairwind’s sprinkler system, lighting the cargo bay with a wet sheen.
John began to slowly advance on Erregal.
Through gritted teeth he pressed out “Bones is what you say your name is? Bones is what I will reduce
you to! You are CT-6166. Murderer of Sean Hawkins, my father!”
John came closer. Erregal began to back away. He pushed some buttons on his rifle and it began to
beep.
“Betrayer of the Republic!” he shouted as he slowly advanced.
“Puppet of a fascist Empire!” John screamed as he came closer still.
“I have dreamed of this day for a long time!”
Frantically, Erregal tossed his beeping rifle at John, and in a fiery paroxysm, the explosion knocked the

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two of them back.
The concussive blast violently flung John into the air, and he came crashing down onto the body of the
Dread Pirate Xim. Erregal rolled with the blast, and coming to his feet first, he pulled his boot knife and
ran toward the prostrate form of John.
“Good soldiers follow orders!” he screamed as he raced toward his quarry.
John looked up, and whispered out a soft “no.”
He unleashed a barrage of blue lightning and poured all of his hate and anger into his enemy. The
materialized fury cascaded through Erregal’s body, halting him where he stood.
The clone fell to his knees and struggled to fill his lungs with air. His knife dropped from his grip and his
head hung limply, his chin upon his chest.
John got up and towered before his kneeling foe. He placed the razor’s edge of Hevel’s sword against
Erregal’s neck.
“You do not know it, Erregal, but you were successful that day. You successfully executed Order 66. You
killed the Jedi Master. And you killed his apprentice.”
Glancing behind him, John looked at the body of the Dread Pirate Xim. He raised his wounded arm, and
Xim’s helmet began to twitch with movement. Working the Force like a master musician, John gently
lifted the helmet from Xim’s body and floated the Mandalorian crown through the air and over his own
head. Manipulating the mysticism of the ancient energy field, John slowly lowered the mask of the
Dread Pirate Xim over his own face.
In a deeply modulated voice, he spoke.
“Erregal. My name is the Dread Pirate Xim. And I will have justice.”
Xim cocked his arm back and swung, and the head of Erregal rolled to his feet.

The sprinklers ceased.

Xim lifted Erregal’s head by the hair and looked into his glazed-over eyes. He tucked the head under his
arm and made his way over to the corpse of Rylan Jaren-Jade. He set Erregal’s head down and began to
divest the body of its Mandalorian armor.
Adorning himself in the black beskar plate, he sheathed his sword.
He stepped over the dead bodies of the Imperial troops and came before the massive red eye of the
annihilator droid. Its bulbous optics examined him as he approached, its internal systems indicating
green.
“Stand down, droid. Back into your box.”
The droid complied and thuddingly made its way to its shipping container.
A robotic voice called out over the Fairwind’s comms: “Captain Xim. The astromech Arby has freed us.
What are your orders?”

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Xim responded into the helmet’s internal comms.
“Status of the Imperial vessel, Fiji?”
“A shuttle has just docked with it.”
“Fire forward ion cannon.”
Dutifully following the command, the Fairwind’s forward ion cannons came to life and fired out three
concussive blasts. The paralyzing salvos hit their marks, and the Imperial cruiser’s lights flittered
momentarily and then went dark. It slowly began to drift in the black of space, lifeless.
“Captain! An Imperial Star Destroyer has just exited hyperspace. Orders?”
“Reverse engineer our hyperspace route, and then engage.”
The golden galleon’s engines roared to life, and pulling back the main throttle, Fiji flew the Fairwind
forward into the expanse of space.

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 EPILOGUE
Without noise,
without ripple,
without a sign on any scanner, 26

veiled within the stars themselves,

the Fairwind stalked underneath the
belly of the Zygerrian Aurore-class
freighter26.
Masterfully manipulating the helm, Xim
slipped the Fairwind beneath the
slaver’s ship and brought to bear the
crosshairs of his ion cannons. He turned
slightly to Fiji.
“Disengage cloak.” The ancient galleon
unveiled itself from the black of space and covertly hung beneath the bow.
“Fire.”
Six massive ion balls, fired at one second intervals, forcefully flew from the Fairwind’s forward facing
double-cannons.
Each blast sunk into the hull of the freighter, rippling blue electricity over the ship’s surface and
wreaking havoc through its internal systems.
“Report.”
“All systems are offline, including communications and life-support. The life-forms aboard have
approximately five hours of oxygen.”
“Plenty of time. Initiate boarding procedures.”
“Affirmative, Captain.”
The Fairwind turned to her side, and slowly extended from her hull a
telescopic tunnel that burrowed into the belly of the freighter. Waiting in the 27
wings was a fifty-unit company of DT-series sentry droids27, armed with hand
cannons and personal energy shields.
Once the airlock was secured, the droids poured into the slaver vessel and
initiated their boarding programming.
Xim turned his attention from his helm and view screen to the executive chair
behind him. Sitting in the chair was his first mate and resident droid engineer.
She was a teenaged, female Arpor-Lan he’d rescued from some Hutts a little
over two years prior. She was gifted with a beautifully rich, dark-brown
complexion, thickly braided long black hair, and pure white chin tusks. Her
eyes gleamed an emerald green.

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“These units are becoming more proficient in their duties, Cassandra. Impressive.”
“Good programming makes life easier, Captain.”
“Unquestionably.”
She looked at the readouts of her data terminal, which sat perched upon the desk. “I think they’ll have
the slavers captured in less than twenty minutes.”
Xim’s head tilted up a little.
“That would be very impressive.”
“Unquestionably,” she grinned back.
Twenty minutes came and went, and Xim paced up and down his bridge in the interval. Finally, a robotic
voice echoed over the bridge’s comms
“We have secured the ship, Captain Xim. The slavers are being held in the cargo hold and the prisoners
are being released from their cells. I am in the process of removing the vessel’s Galactic Positioning
System and bringing its life-support system back online.”
“Thank you, Ahab. First mate Cassandra and I will come aboard shortly.”
Xim turned to his protégé. “To the Zygerrian vessel then.”
The Dread Pirate Xim indicated that his first mate should go first, and they made their way through the
history infused, wood-paneled halls of the Fairwind. They went through the telescopic boarding hall and
walked into the Zygerrian vessel. Red emergency lights lit the passageway, and a thick layer of smoke
hung by the ceiling. Xim and Cassandra stepped over Zygerrian bodies on their way to the ship’s cargo
hold.
Xim looked at his platinum chronometer. He counted thirty minutes.
“It seems there is always room for improvement. Would you agree, apprentice?”
“Yes, Captain. I’ll get it on our next run.”
“I believe you will. You’re a good engineer. Better than Jaybo Hood.”
Xim and Cassandra entered the Zygerrian cargo hold, and lined up on their knees were ten Zygerrian
slavers, their hands on their heads. Behind them was Xim’s sentry droid militia.
One of the Zygerrian prisoners sneered to his companion beside him, “See I told you. It’s the dirty scrugg
Xim.”
Xim pulled his blaster pistol and nonchalantly shot the Zygerrian between the eyes. He collapsed
forward and started to bleed out.
“No talking,” said Xim as he reholstered.
The cargo bay door opened again, and another group was being led into the hold by Xim’s GG-series
hospitality droid. The ragtag group of aliens entered hesitantly.
“Not to fear, friends,” began the hospitality droid, “you are in safe hands. The Dread Pirate Xim requests
your attendance at the freedom ceremony about to take place.”

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The GG droid rolled to Xim and bowed deeply.
“The prisoners from the Zygerrian vessel, Captain. I have brought their endowments with me.”
Xim nodded his acknowledgment of the droid.
The group of dirty prisoners moved together in a huddled mass. Altogether, there were over a hundred
of them and they constituted a diverse cross section of sentient beings.
Xim stood before them, his back to the kneeling prisoners.
“Welcome to your freedom ceremony, my friends.” Xim snapped his heels together and bowed deeply.
“Today you have been rescued by the Dread Pirate Xim. Before I leave you with command of this vessel,
you will each be given an endowment from me of three thousand credits.”
He drew his blaster from his holster and the crowd collectively gasped.
“Oh no, my friends,” he chuckled. “This is not for you. This is for the ceremony.”
He turned around, and in rapid succession shot each Zygerrian through the forehord with frightening
accuracy.
“The ceremony is now over. You are free.” He flailed his arms out in a sweeping gesture and bowed to
them again.
Eventually, a male Twi'lek separated himself from the group and spoke up.
“We’re…..we’re free to go?”
Suddenly the red emergency lights shut off and were replaced by the ship’s normal running conditions.
The engine roared back online, and with a loud gush, the air started to flow through the vents once
more.
“Yes, my friend.” Xim looked up. “It seems Commander Ahab has restored the ship’s power. He has
removed the ship’s GPS systems, and before I leave you all to pursue your own lives in freedom, my
droid crew will repair the hole in the side of this vessel.”
Collective gaps of joy and laughter began to move through the prisoners. They hugged each other and
many of them began to cry.
“I have more good news to share, my friends,” started Xim. “If the news has not reached you yet, know
that the Empire has fallen. The end came naught but a few weeks ago! The Emperor is dead!”
Another collective gasp flew from the crowd, and then a raucous round of applause.
“Please, please, my friends. Choose among yourselves a good leader to captain this vessel to bring you
to a safe port. Might I suggest Chandrila? Use the funds I will provide you with to rebuild your lives: buy
a home in a safe corner of the galaxy, start that java café you’ve always dreamed of, maybe buy some
land and live the quiet existence of a farmer.”
The crowd rushed to Xim and began to hug and cheer him.
After many long minutes of soaking in their accolades, Xim and Cassandra made their way through the
crowd and to the cargo bay door. Next to the door was a box of small pouches filled with credits. The
freed citizens began to line up to receive their gift from the Dread Pirate Xim.

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As Xim was handing out his endowments, his eyes continually moved to the last being in the line—a thin
old woman with long, unkempt gray hair. She looked familiar.
She was the last to come to him, and as she approached, Xim’s eyes lit with recognition. She cupped her
hands in anticipation of the gift.
“Woman, what is your name?”
She was hesitant to answer, but eventually whispered out, “Marion Devereux.”
“Have you ever met the Dread Pirate Xim, Marion Devereux?”
She shook her head. “No,” she replied meekly.
“You ran the Admiral Webbon Inn on Llanic, did you not?”
Her face shot up, astonished. Her eyes ran searchingly over the strange visage of the masked man
before her.
“I did,” she said. “Who are you?”
“Do you have children?” he asked.
She looked down, and when she looked up at him again tears were in her eyes.
“No,” she answered.
“There is no need to lie, Marion.”
“I am not lying,” she said, with a slight edge.
“What about that young man who used to work there? His name was John, no?”
“I… I don’t…” the conversation was beginning to unravel her already frail mental state.
“Was he just an employee then?”
“Yes, that’s right. Just an employee.”
“Where is he now?”
Anger and grief began to mix in her face.
“How am I supposed to know?” She began to cry. “He left me. And my husband left me. And my father
left me. All the men who were supposed to protect me left me. I’m all alone.” She hid her face in her
hands and began to sob.
“Xim,” started Cassandra, “what’s, what’s going…” Xim held up his hand to cut her off.
“Cassandra, give this woman three portions of gold, and then three times that, so that she may live her
old age in some comfort.” He turned to address the weeping woman, and aggressively pointing his
finger in her face he began, “Know this Ms. Devereux: it was your beloved Emperor who set the
conditions for your slavery. If you have not considered this, please do.” And then more gently he placed
both of his hands on her shoulders. “But also know this: you have given much to the universe Marion
Devereux, and your loss of innocence has saved many lives.”
Cassandra began to hand over multiple pouches of credits.

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Xim stepped aside from the cargo bay door and allowed the woman to pass him.
With her credits in hand, she made her way down the ship’s hall and around a corner, out of sight.
Cassandra looked at Xim, her eyes seeking for some sort of explanation.
“Let us make our way back to the Fairwind, Cassandra. Will we set a course for Hutt space, and continue
the work of justice.”

THE END

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