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There were rebels on the DS-1 Orbital Battle Station.
They had infiltrated the detention center and liberated one of the inmates scheduled for termination.
Given how unmethodical and messy the traitors to the Empire tended to be, it was anyone’s guess how exactly they had managed to do it, but CC-2224 did not feel much inclined to wonder about that right at the moment.
He’d been given orders.
He was to take a squad of troopers— regular ones, since he was one of only a few Purge Troopers currently stationed on board— and apprehend the traitors.
So that’s what he was going to do.
CC-2224 did very pointedly not comment on the disgraceful disarray the rebels had apparently thrown the entire station into. For rebel traitors to be disorderly was one thing, but—
Never mind. He’d been given orders.
Orders that let him on a wild chase through what felt like most of the battle station, cost him a third of his troops, and left the rest of them with stinging burns all over the lower halves of their bodies. Courtesy of an unusually hostile R2 unit.
Eventually though, the squad —or what was left of it— had managed to locate their targets again and were finally closing in on them. And not a moment too soon, since the rebels had already made to the docking bay where their ship was being held.
That’s when CC-2224 saw him. An old man, a stranger, facing off against his Commander-in-chief.
The stranger was wielding a blue blade, not unlike the one the Darth was never seen without. It was clearly the weapon of a Jedi. The weapon of a traitor.
CC-2224 did not let the duel distract him, though. As far as he could tell, the situation seemed under control. Even as red and blue streaks whirled around each other in increasingly harsh patterns.
No, his mission was to apprehend the intruders that had made it onto the battle station. The old rebel was being confronted by the Supreme Commander, so that still left the young ones to go after.
CC-2224 advanced, but in the corners of his eyes he could still see the red saber of the Darth whirring through the air as it clashed with blue light…
Blue light…
And then the fight came to an abrupt end as the red blade made contact with its enemy … and the strangest thing happened. By all rights, the laser should have cut right through the old man, cleaved him in two and left him an empty husk of burned flesh. Instead, the stranger just…vanished, leaving nothing but a worn brown cloak dropping onto the ground.
And something about that sight stopped CC-2224 in his tracks. He barely even registered the young rebel’s cry of grief as it rang out into the hangar, and paid no attention to his troopers hurrying past him towards the intruders.
Intruders who were currently getting away, because CC-2224 stood frozen in place staring at nothing but an empty cloak.
Wait, no, not nothing. There was something else that clattered to the ground where not a second ago a person had stood, sliding across the floor towards him.
A cylindrical piece of metal. The stranger’s weapon.
CC-2224 should have left it at that. The rebels were now almost off base, the unmistakable hum of engines firing up echoing through the docking bay.
But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the glinting metal. There was something in his mind that urged him to pick it up. And the feeling only got stronger the longer he looked at the saber's hilt laying unprotected on the ground.
He couldn’t have said what it was. He just… he needed to pick it up. Something… someone needed him to pick it up.
The moment the hilt touched his fingers, CC-2224 was struck with the oddness of it. There was an energy to the thing that spoke of more than mere metal and mechanics. It almost felt alive.
And more than that, it was… familiar. He couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he somehow knew this weapon. And as the strange energy travelled up his arm and into the rest of his body, enveloping him in a gentle buzzing hum that felt almost welcoming, he somehow got the sense that the weapon knew him, too.
CC-2224 just stood there —lost in the object’s thrall— utterly oblivious to his surroundings. Even as the rest of the station erupted into frenzied activity and everywhere around him officers and other personnel scrambled over themselves in pursuit of…of someone. He had the distant thought that there was something he was supposed to be doing. Orders to give, orders to follow…
Instead, he just …stood there.
It was difficult to make sense of the feeling emanating from the saber in his hand, but more than anything it reminded him of the orange glow of a fire in the dark. The atmosphere of a calm and peaceful evening, with the last edges of a red sunset still painting the distant horizon. There was an edge of sadness to it and of exhaustion, too. The sort you get after a too long day spent doing backbreaking work— but there was also the promise of rest and protection. An unspoken certainty that the warmth of the fire would see you safely through the night and never—
“Trooper.”
CC-2224's head snapped up, torn from his trance by an all too familiar modulated voice.
The voice pushed away the gentle presence with its own acrid aura. Kind warmth was replaced by scalding, merciless heat, and CC-2224 found himself once again standing on the floor of the DS-1 Orbital Battle Station face to face with the Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Fleet. The man was standing right in front of him, expectantly holding out a black clad hand.
“Hand me the saber.”
CC-2224 knew he needed to obey. Of course he did. He’d been given an order. The voice had given him an order, and Good Soldiers Followed Orders.
CC-2224’s grip tightened on the metal.
A beat of silence.
Then, again. “Trooper, the saber.”
There was an edge of annoyance to the voice now, and the echo of it that lived in CC-2224’s mind was screaming at him to follow the order. Obey the voice. Hand over this lightsaber.
He didn’t move. Even as the screaming got louder and louder.
Good Soldiers Follow Orders
But…
Good Soldiers—
But the weapon in his hand didn’t belong to the Commander-in-Chief…
Good—
No.
This wasn’t the Commander’s saber. This wasn't his warmth. He didn’t glow like this, so softly and soothingly.
This gentle caress of protective twilight wasn’t his to take.
The realization of this simple fact spread through CC-2224's entire being. And almost in response to it, even through the increasingly bitter heat of the Darth, he could again feel the saber's spirit move up his arm into the rest of his body, soothing the pain in his head and—
Wait… his head hurt. When had his head started hurting? What was this thing doing to him?
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know when that stabbing pain had started.
He didn’t know why this strange weapon affected him the way it did.
He didn’t know why the mere thought of letting his Commander touch it made him want to throw up in his helmet.
Right now, the only thing he was absolutely certain off was that no matter what, he could not hand over the lightsaber.
“No, sir.”
…
“What.”
“I can’t, sir.” CC-2224 heard himself say, through the pain and through the screeching in his head, commanding him to follow the order. “It doesn’t… It’s not yours, sir.”
There was another pause filled with the sounds of hastening troops and alarms blaring in the background.
When the Commander spoke again, his voice was drenched in barely contained rage. “CC-2224, given how useful you’ve been up until now, I am prepared to allow you the mercy of a simple disciplinary procedure and a recalibration by the medical service. But I am not saying this again. Hand. Me. The. Saber.“
“No.”
The pain in his temple had become almost unbearable and CC-2224 had to draw on all of his willpower to keep himself from keeling over, but through all this something floated to the surface of his consciousness. Something that had been buried so deeply it should have never emerged back into the light of day.
“And my name is Cody.”
Despite the mask, Cody could see the shock his announcement had caused Vader. And that shock bought him the second he needed.
He twisted the hilt of the sabre, his hands remembering the motion despite the fact he’d only ever done it once before. The movement seared forever into his memory by the mere profoundness of the occurrence, the trust Obi-wan had shown him, all those long years ago, when he’d explained to him —to Cody, oh Force, his name was Cody— how to unlock the crystal within.
The kyber dropped into his waiting palm —warm and trusting— and Cody didn’t hesitate as he flung it onto the ground and crushed it beneath his reinforced boots with all the strength he could muster.
The crystal splintered beneath the force of the blow, giving one last pulse of warmth and what Cody could have sworn was a wave of gratitude.
Then the glow subsided, and the two men were left standing with the splintered remains of the dead crystal between them.
Vader would not get his hands on it to torture it or use it for his sick machines. Obi-wan’s kyber would not be put with the other crystals that powered the Death Star, would never be forced to go against its nature by bringing pain and destruction to the galaxy.
And although the crystal lay dead by his feet, Cody could have sworn that he still felt the gentle aura of dusk around him, enveloping him in an affectionate embrace.
It was the last thing he felt before a red blade pierced through the front of his armour and straight through his heart.