Clone survivor
1,
The Force.
He tried and he could not reach out for the Force.
Was he dead then? If he had been, he wondered, they why would have he been lying on a berth in a moderately lit cabin, blanketed with his own cloak?
He held the brown textile closer. Something warm and familiar in the cold space... of course this wasn't his original Jedi cloak, that one had been torn to pieces several years before, but it almost felt like that to him. Almost.
Something tangled around his right hand as he moved. It felt like a thin lace of skin... a necklace? With a green crystal on it... He quickly got the thing off his neck after recognizing it for what it was. That kybercrystal must have been the core of somebody's lightsabre.
But where...?!
His first wave of panic subsided before it could have reached its peak. His lightsabre was not on his waist anymore, but it was on the shelf right next to him, connected to a charger, and apparently, it had been properly cleaned out.
He remembered seeing it drop into the mud, right before he lost consciousness.
His body still hurt, in that dulling, paralyzing pain that made him wish he could just stay put for a little longer and perhaps hope for a little more help from whoever rescued him and his weapon from the mud.
He heard very distant footsteps, as if someone was packing food from the refrigerator. And it must have been the same person who was whistling a melody...
A familiar melody... he could remember hearing it several times, with lyrics...
Vode an.
He jumped up as if he had been hit by high voltage. The blue blade of his weapon activated before he could have put any conscious thought together. Then he just stared at the small ship's corridor, where his first-assumed enemy's silhouette showed up against the much brighter background.
"You're up?"
"Don't you DARE come closer, clone!"
"Fine." The trooper (there was only one of him) didn't seem to be offended, not even scared at the sight of an armed Jedi. "Fine!" He repeated, taking a step backwards anyway. "Just give back the amulet, please. That's all I ask of you. And try not to damage the ship, you'll need it later" he added as an afterthought.
The Jedi blinked. He took a deep breath. And another.
He tried to focus, which felt easier now that he was free of the kybercrystal... or whatever it was. Normally, those didn't have a negative effect on Force-sensitivity.
"I'm waiting, knight." The clone said patiently. "And maybe you want to eat something? Though so far I have only found some higher-quality Imperial food rations on board, I grew up on stuff worse than these, but I'm not sure about your taste..."
With the second flash of panic over, he deactivated his lightsabre. Apparently, this clone was of the rare kind that didn't want to see him dead.
"Yes" he managed a dry smile. "I remember what you guys had to eat back when we were on the same side. I tried it once. Then I made sure to always have some real food on board for my people, even if it was just a carriage of muja or qiraadish. They didn't seem to be very grateful for my efforts, once the Emperor had revealed himself." He finished, bitterly. "What's your name, anyway?"
"Did I ask yours?"
Seeing the Jedi wasn't about to give the dropped necklace back, the clone made his own move and picked it up from the berth. He rolled the pale leather around the crystal and slid it under a panel of his regular stormtrooper armor. At once his form disappeared from the Force like he were nonexistant.
"You at least have a number, if not a name... which I doubt. How and why did you save me?"
The clone's dark brown eyes stared back at him with a rough mixture of grief and determination.
"How: you were out cold, and with the amulet it was easiest to report you dead. Then our wise Inquisitor ordered everyone to go find proof of your Jedi-ness, read, your lightsabre. He left his own ship unguarded."
"You stole his ship?!"
"Technically, you did, as you're of the highest rank aboard."
The Jedi sat down on a kitchen chair, his chin supported with one hand.
"And how did you get back my lightsabre?"
"When they realized you were no longer there. A birth-born corporal who never bothered to tell one clone from another, bless him, trusted me with delivering it to the Inquisitor. Thank your good luck, if you believe in such thing, knight."
"Thank you, my friend." He remembered, from almost a decade ago, that a heartfelt thanks usually mattered more to a loyal trooper than anything else he could provide. He, so long ago, tried to gain friendship of those he commanded, and he thought to have managed that – until they turned against him at one single order from someone ranking higher. What he could have done otherwise, he would never know.
"As for why: because I was created to serve the Republic, and when I was created, it were the Jedi who defended it. Perhaps your order was the last thing in the entire Galaxy that wasn't out for the Republic's fall."
The clone looked to find another chair in the tiny kitchen, but since it was a private ship for one person only, there was none. Seemingly unbothered, he remained standing, and picked up an artificial-looking foodstuff, and started chewing it like it were better than what he normally received.
"I programmed the ship to make three random jumps with the eventual arrival at Commenor. The Empire's outpost is weak there, and low in numbers. You can sell this ship and use the money to cover your trail from there."
"And you?"
You're a Jedi, he reminded himself. No attachments. This clone saved your life, he apparently doesn't want your company. Ignore the fact he's the first person you could rely on in the past eight years. Ignore your past friendship to his brothers. As time had proven, those mean nothing. Nothing.
"I will re-join the Empire under some random production number, and continue my duty."
There was something... greyness in those vivid brown eyes. But One thing was sure: how old could he be? He looked like a thirty-year-old Mandalorian, which meant approximately fifteen years in a clone's life. Was he only seven when the Republic fell? How would he know how to perform proper maintenance of a lightsabre then? But even those who did serve under Jedi weren't usually this familiar with the weapon. Obviously he wasn't the first whose life he had saved, did he perhaps learn to do so from some other survivors? Was this what he referred to as continuing his duty?
He clearly didn't like talking about himself. He duely answered his questions... except for those related to his name and identification. Was he just keeping a distance, like some clones did? Or did he not trust the Jedi he just saved with the delicate information? Without sensing him in the Force, the Jedi could not tell.
But then, there was something in his eyes that the Jedi had learnt to recognize. It was the unspoken grief over lost comrades, something he was unfortunate to see too often before the Empire. He'd just lost a good captain a few hours before the... their change. Perhaps it was for the better that Tinsel died under enemy fire, so that he didn't turn against him, too? At least he didn't have to kill Tinsel like several others... at least Tinsel didn't have to kill him.
Without realizing, he sank into the same state of bittersweet emotions, the remembrance of those he fought side by side with.
"You know, I think they are grateful" the trooper suddenly spoke up.
"Who?"
"Those still alive of your legion. They might view you as an enemy now, but they do remember you cared for them. Never be deceived by appearances, we clones don't forget that easily. The main difference between me and them is that, they're aging. Fast. I won't quit my fight against the Empire until I see it defeated, but your people will die without serving under their general again."
"I won't...!"
The clone stepped aside from the table.
"I know." He nodded stiffly. "But for many brothers, that is the only illusion they have left."