Chapter 2: Treebark (The Tale of TK-551 aka “Odds”)
Writer / Co-Creator: Elly Hazel
Art / Co-Creator: Marietta Ivanova
The story of Odds is part of the stormtrooper stories "The Shadow that hides us from Death" and a prequel to the illustrated story "Bishop’s Hand".
“Odds, you have to run.”
Tears stung TK-551’s eyes as he cradled Pep’s head in the crook of his arm.
“No,” he growled and fired blindly into the darkness of the Kashyyyk forest. The shadowy forms of rebels shrank behind the trees only to resurface moments later and return the blaster fire.
“They...won’t stop...” Pep gasped. “They-” Another coughing fit. Blood seeped through the cracks in the trooper’s armor.
Odds held him close. “I’m not leaving you. I can get us out of this.” A blaster bolt sizzled past his helmet. He ducked and fired a few more shots back.
“See?” Odds forced a smile beneath his helmet. “My bad aim will see us through, Pep…”
Pep always laughed at his terrible jokes. This time he didn’t respond.
“...Pep?”
Pep was very still.
Reality began to sink in. Odds looked around at his dead comrades strewn across the blood-stained clearing. Everyone was gone; troopers he had known for years, troopers he was proud to call friends. And here he was, uninjured, unscathed. Odds had never been shot before. Not a single scar blemished his body.
Pep had plenty of scars. Too many. “Lucky bastard,” Pep always teased. “Always beatin’ the odds.”
A thermal detonator rolled into view.
Not this time, Odds thought. The detonator was too far away to throw back, and too close to be anything but deadly.
Odds bowed his head, pressed his helmet against his dead friend, and waited for death.
A thunderous crack sounded in the distance followed by a chorus of screams. When Odds opened his eyes, he saw the broken trunk of red-barked tree soar through the air towards him as if carried by magic. It crashed between Odds and the detonator, the very ground splitting beneath it on impact.
Seconds later, the detonator exploded.
Large chunks of fiery bark rained all around him, smoke filled the air, and yet Odds was unharmed.
How…?
“What was that?” An unseen rebel shouted.
“Careful, he may still be alive,” another responded. “Fire on sight!”
Odds gritted his teeth and lifted his blaster as the rebels charged towards him through the smoky haze.
He gripped Pep’s shoulder tightly.
To hell with luck, and to hell with beating the odds. If I’m dying today then I’m taking these rebel scum with me.
“There he is! Fi-”
The hiss of a lightsaber cut through the rebel’s words. No one had time to scream before scarlet death came for them. Odds watched in awe as the red light blade tore through the air, slicing cleanly, killing mercilessly.
The rebels fell at the feet of Darth Vader seconds later.
Odds wanted to say thank you, to praise the dark lord for saving him. Instead a single word fell from his dry lips.
“Why?”
The ebony helmet turned slightly towards him. The gleam of a reflective, insectoid eye seemed to burn through Odd’s soul.
“It is as the Force wills.” And with that, Vader walked into the woods. Imperial reinforcements followed in pursuit of the remaining rebels.
Shakily, Odds laid Pep’s body on the ground, then picked up the remnants of the tree that had protected him from death.
If the Force will it, then maybe it's time to press the luck the Force has given me. He ran into the woods after Vader and the troopers, blaster in one hand, scorched bark in the other. For Pep, for my squad, for the Empire.
