So. Allow me to introduce myself. Formerly Aleksei Igorevich, now Shade Aero. A young man of twenty-five who died of brain cancer in his world and was born in this one. How? No idea, but it comforts me to think, "through the Force." In my past life, I was one hell of a person. Complicated. No—not so much complicated as willful. Yeah, that's better. It so happened that the phrase "You must," or "You are obliged," triggered uncontrollable fits of rage in me. What usually happened to the offender in those cases doesn't need to be said; let's just say nothing good. How was I not taken out with that kind of setup? Well, formally nobody could pin anything on me, because the note about a "mentally ill person with a tumor in his head" was stronger than reinforced concrete. And informally, I could stand up for myself. Thanks to my mother—dragged me to fight clubs as a kid, and she really did train me up. And I didn't go looking for trouble too hard, either.
And although people considered me, at best, a psycho, my head worked very, very well. It's just that the boxes people put you in didn't suit me at all. But I wasn't a complete bastard, either. My personal moral standards often came into conflict with what everyone accepted as "normal." That's where the conflicts came from. Sucking up to get a higher position? Not in this life. Bending under a boss's rudeness? Punch him in the face and walk away calmly. Watching idiots harass children? I'd rather hang myself than walk past.
Think it's hard to live like that? You're absolutely right. But hard doesn't mean impossible. I had a job in a normal (!) team, and good relationships. I had my own life with a close circle of people who shared my views; I had things I valued and things worth fighting for. And I fought. At least, I tried to.
Yeah, I had a kind heart. A lot of people told me that, but I just joked it off and brought small gifts to my "brothers" and "sisters" in misfortune. They even offered me a place in the house of death, but no thanks. I lived free, and I left free, trying to take from life as much as I could.
But who knew it wouldn't be the end, only the beginning?
***
I came to slowly. Very slowly. Sensations returned unhurriedly, piece by piece—like someone was assembling me from a puzzle. And throughout that assembly, it was dark, quiet, warm, and calm. Very calm. Though no, that's a lie. Muffled, incomprehensible sounds reached me, impossible to make out. As for me, judging by what I felt, I was lying curled up into a ball. Unfortunately, my senses were heavily dulled.
Time felt stretched, but there was no need to hurry. Thoughts rolled in waves; sometimes my muscles seized with cramps. And even though it was unpleasant, in those moments I understood—my arms and legs were intact. That continued until I finally came to and tried to move deliberately. And the moment I did, one simple fact finally hit me. I was floating in something. Besides, my guess about my posture was confirmed. I really was curled up. The first conscious thoughts that came to mind, I really, really didn't like—but I couldn't see any other explanation. After making mental notes, I simply waited, silently praying over my own delirium.
Only after I came to, it was as if I began to see the world… no, not see—feel it, maybe? I don't know; it's hard to explain. Waves seemed to emanate from me. They had no color, but as they passed through space, they reflected different colored outlines within it. Here were some incomprehensible humanoids; here were structures; and that looked like some kind of devices. And the strange light-shows I sometimes "watched"—there's nothing to say about those at all.
The waves emanating from me traveled very far, and what was most interesting—I could control their frequency and range. That's how I found out that if I sent powerful waves too often, not only would I black out quickly, I'd also have time to catch how, from somewhere outside, a gag reflex would creep up on me mixed with severe dizziness and weakness.
Deciding not to do that again, I reduced those impulses to a minimum—just a couple meters' radius. But that was enough. Different, incomprehensible imprints of auras; unknown devices and structures. I couldn't understand or parse anything, but most of all I was worried about the aura I was inside. Vague, but so familiar. Like it was mine—and yet a little different.
Questions kept piling up, and there was nowhere to get answers. I could only keep studying what I "saw," nothing more. And after some time, I realized it was getting definitely cramped. Acting more on instinct, I tried to move a little—and then it started.
I don't know what was happening, but an echo of terrible pain came at me, and I myself began to be literally pushed somewhere. Not only did the sense of weight change in some unfamiliar way, it also became hard to breathe, as if. Spasms twisted my lungs, but that was still manageable.
And then there was the sensation of periodic squeezing. As if the walls kept shifting inward, and there was no exit anywhere. Like I didn't have enough impressions and sensations already, Fear got added on top. Reflexively pushing off with my legs, as if trying to break free—and oh, miracle, something is even working! I see light! I'd love to joke about "at the end of the tunnel," but I very clearly wasn't in the mood for jokes.
Bright light slashed my eyes; unpleasant cold struck my skin; and my ears exploded with a whole muffled cacophony of nasty sounds. Smells joined the sounds. Strange, indistinct—and right after them, it felt like someone lit a bonfire in my lungs, they burned so badly.
My "wave" vision instantly sharpened, filling the world around me with extra colors and emotions. Yes—emotions. When a wave hit this or that colored object, an echo returned to me carrying the imprint of the emotions the creature was experiencing. Thank… whoever the hell, because there were only three of those creatures, and joy dominated in all of them.
I try to show displeasure, but instead only a scream bursts from my throat. The baby's scream of a newborn child.
"No… this can't be. This is nonsense! Nonsense!!! This is just impossible!" Panic clamps down on me in steel arms. I don't understand anything. I can't do anything. And damn it, how awful this is…
But at the same time, the unpleasant sensations quickly fade into the background, and the panic gives way to hysteria just as quickly. Before I can really lose it, they quickly wipe me down and wrap me in something soft, and then hand me to someone. That third aura—the one they pulled me out of—radiated calm and protection, and in its emotions there was an indescribable cocktail of positive feelings.
Cracking my eyes open a little, with a blurry, fogged gaze I notice a beautiful woman about twenty-five. And that would be one thing—but SHE WAS RED. Light-red skin, with white pigments on her face forming a predatory pattern. Instead of hair—something long and strange, and from under her lips, in her smile, peeked fairly sharp teeth. The hysteria that was rising gets crushed by shock, which is cemented by her next action: she gently kisses the top of my head and presses me to her chest, softly whispering something. Her voice was soft, tender. As if by magic, I began to come to my senses. There were no thoughts. None at all. I didn't even notice how I simply slipped into sleep. Yeah. This was just a terrible dream.
***
Well, damn… the nonsense turned out to be quite material—and even almost pleasant. At least, I've been in this body for about eight days now, trying to fix my cognitive dissonance. Not only did I "reincarnate," the second blow to my psyche came from the world itself. The first hallucinations weren't hallucinations at all, and my "mom" really is a Togruta. A beautiful representative of one of the species from the Star Wars universe. And yet my father was nowhere to be seen—as if I didn't have one.
The third blow to my psyche followed right after the second. The oddly suspicious word "Je'daii" pushes me toward some not very pleasant thoughts, and what the locals do makes my mouth fall open and my eyes bug out in amazement. But at least the light-shows make sense now. Turns out, I was seeing Je'daii using the Force. Basically magic in plain sight. And most importantly, my parents… at least one of them, definitely has the Force, which means I too should, in theory, be able to pull off similar tricks. In fact, considering what I've seen and what I've done, I'm more than sure of it.
And now I, with eyes full of joy, suck down breast milk with one single thought: "What time period am I in?" That was the only question I cared about—because what world I'd been thrown into, I'd already understood, and I'd even been happy about it.
And it didn't bother me that I was an infant. Now I perfectly understand why people get their memory knocked out by existing at that age, but I'm ready to go through this path in any form and format, simply because I died. Died in my world. The headaches of the last days will stay with me forever, and so what I see around me can't possibly be a hallucination. And besides: I'm breathing, I'm feeling, I'm seeing and hearing the world around me. I'm happy like the simplest child with the woman gently feeding me and giving me a second chance. And it doesn't matter what the world around me is—even if it's delirium, because for the first time I've got hope for a truly happy life.
***
I celebrated too early. Oh, too early. Real "surprises" were waiting ahead. One of them was the local language, which was fairly difficult—but thank the Force, also flexible enough to build complex constructions. And on top of that, Mom teaches me the Togruta language separately. That so-called language was incomparably harder than Basic, because besides simple sounds made by the vocal cords, it included growls, squeaks, tongue-clicks against teeth—and all of it in one bottle. And you know what? I definitely liked that language! It amazed me with its beauty and depth, and the kind of sentences Mom sometimes produced—I could listen forever.
I'd sit there and watch carefully how her lips moved as she read fairy tales from books. Without exaggeration, a mesmerizing sight. And the way you can curse out your opponent—pure music.
***
"Well. Come on. Step. Another step. Thaaat's it!" Plopping into Mom's hands, I relax. Who would've thought learning to walk is such hard work? I never would've thought so in my life. And now here I am, learning to move all over again. Though, frankly, it's going so-so. On all fours—yeah, that I can do. On my feet… only with support.
Meanwhile, she turns me around and sets me on the ground again, then holds out her hands a couple centimeters away so I'll walk to them.
"What?! Again?"
"Well? Come on," she beckons me invitingly. "Come on," she calls softly in Togruta, her voice like velvet.
"Uuuh…" I groan mentally, but try to go.
Thwap!
So—no whining. No whining! Screw the pain; I'm small, but I'm a proud man! Yes. Meanwhile, they scoop me up into their arms and look into my eyes. Mom smiles, melting at the sight of my serious little mug, wiping away the tears that have welled up with her thumbs. What's wrong with me—I can keep myself together!
"Aww, my good boy. I can see you're serious. One more time?" And she sets me on the floor again, but holds me steady. Come on, Shade, I can do it. I can do it!!! Ste-e-e-p. Another ste-e-e-p…
***
"Shade!!!" Mom shouted, grabbing my hands. And me—what? Me—nothing! I'm just watching adults work with the Force and trying to copy them. Unfortunately, most of the time it comes out pretty badly. The first time, I knocked a chair into a wall. The second time, I started a fire. A third time hasn't happened yet. Mom doesn't let me out of her sight anymore, and at the slightest thing, she grabs me right up.
"Uh?" is all I answer, peering into her displeased eyes.
In response, a whole sentence of indignation and reproaches poured out at me. Unfortunately, I still have to learn the local language—and learn it again—not to mention actually speaking it, but I caught the gist: "You can't do that." The logical question pops up—why? What am I doing wrong?
Eh… too bad I can't ask those questions out loud. Not yet. And doing anything else is boring. No, really—am I supposed to play with a rattle with other kids? Though after I launched a rattle with the Force into the forehead of one nasty little type, they don't give me those toys anymore. Don't even know whether to be happy about that or not.
But there's a plus! Mom started paying more attention to me.
***
"Crunch, crunch, crunch…" came the loud crack of a wooden cylinder under my sharp teeth. Who would've known HOW badly my teeth itch! It's torture! I can't understand how Togrutas survive this.
While my teeth greedily gnawed the piece of wood, my eyes jumped along the lines of a book, studying letters and what they meant. Completely by accident, I stumbled onto a page about local timekeeping. Turns out, time on Tython is measured somewhat differently from what I'm used to—which I'd suspected, but now I'd found confirmation, even if by accident. (Who would've thought—in a children's ABC-book equivalent.) There are five hundred and twenty-four days in a year, each of them thirty-two hours long. So if someone is five, they can easily look ten.
Another detail was that the locals didn't have the concept of a "week" as such. Same with a month. Instead there was the concept of a "Takedu," which included twenty days. To keep from breaking my brain, I started associating those takedus with simple months.
This news shook me so much that I didn't notice how much harder I started going at the cylinder.
"CRACK!" F-fuck! Bit through it again. And that's already the seventh—just this takedu. By the way, an interesting phenomenon: if other kids get something made of leather with a relatively soft filling, I get wood, because I chew through that stuff in about thirty seconds. So, where's the box with these sticks?
***
"Well, Sha-a-ade." Mom stroked my head, healing a wound with the Force at the same time. I clenched my teeth and endured.
It's probably a funny sight from the outside: tears in my eyes, teeth clenched—but I'm not whining. I'm holding it. And the thing is, I mixed up the candy box with the dishware box. Knowing what a sweet tooth I am, Mom regularly re-hides the candy box, and every time farther away. This time, the box ended up on a kitchen cabinet. Since I can't physically reach it from there at all, I used the Force. Or rather, I tried to. And to my misfortune, something even worked. But not with the right box. It's good it was open, and I got off with lots of small cuts and one big one, not to mention the bumps on my head.
"Careful," she finished. The wounds themselves were gone, but the shock—and then the aching afterward…
"It was… juth by accident!" she smiled and pressed me to her chest, gently stroking my head.
"Well, it's okay, it's okay. It'll pass soon."
"I'm not crying!" I wriggle free. "It'th all o-kay!"
"Of course you're not crying—you're my strong boy," and after a pause she added with a faint smirk, "and tough, too."
That one stung. On the other hand, if you count how many times I've gotten into trouble because of myself, the claim is justified.
***
Imagine that—turns out I do have a father. I asked and found out he's a Miraluka who went to other stars on a sleeper ship. As I understood it, my birth is the result of their farewell. And judging by the emotions Mom felt while telling me about it, it was like saying goodbye to someone dying. Only later did I learn why: those who leave for the stars on sleeper ships never return. At least, none have returned so far. The sleeper ship itself is a half-kilometer-long monstrosity filled with stasis capsules for distant, long flights. They were armed to the latest tech, and in general each such ship is the peak of technical achievement. And the one Father left on is considered the last—and even that one illegal.
Given that there is no communication and no information at all about ships that left earlier, a ban was imposed on further use of such ships in space. Not without reason, by the way—after all, the Tython system sits in such an anomalous sector that you can just look up at the sky and see how much nasty stuff is hanging out there in space. And how, exactly, are you supposed to fly?
My dad was an explorer to the marrow. Taking something apart, studying it, understanding it—don't feed him meat, just give him an artifact. He crawled all over what's called the Old City, a mysterious and incomprehensible place buried in Tython's sands. Legend says there are functioning Infinity Gates there. I don't know if that's true or not, but judging by what Mother left unsaid, Dad did find something there.
And he also had an indirect connection to the Order of Starwatchers. A group of people who want to learn where their ancestors came from and, by any means possible, are trying to figure out how to return to their homeland. The Tythonites don't deal with them; the locals lean more toward isolation mode, while these ones stick their noses into every crack. I don't know what kind of relationship they had with Father; Mom doesn't say, but I can assume it was business. Probably. Both she and Dad dig up ancient artifacts.
But what I did understand is that Dad did find something. Something very important. Something that made him, despite the ban, leave the system surrounded by his associates. One way or another, I made a note to myself that in the future I need to visit the Old City. You know—just to check out the sights.
After I cracked my lineage open a bit, I clung to Mother with different questions—specifically, Force sight. Mom explained that I'm too small and shouldn't even think about it, but after I told her about my second sight (the one I used to find candy!), she just blinked in astonishment. Coming out of her stupor, she began explaining to me, clearly and simply, the specifics of the Togruta and Miraluka traits that had combined in me into one. It turns out the montrals (the horn-things, or lekku on the head) are hollow inside. With their help, Togrutas literally scan the space around them like sonar. Miraluka, on the other hand, are born with an enhanced version of Force sight. Besides the fact that this eyeless people, thanks to the Force, have spherical vision, they also see through walls perfectly and can "feel" the emotions of those who fall within their field of view. Unfortunately, that field is fairly small, and to enlarge it you have to train long and hard. But for me… for me, those traits stacked on top of each other. I will never have the usual "Force sight" everyone is used to, but instead I have something of my own. If Togrutas' waves are perfectly physical, then mine are made of the Force—which is why they pass through ALL obstacles in their path and return with a massive amount of information, up to and including emotions. This process takes less than an attosecond, which is, excuse me, ten to the minus eighteenth power. I specifically freaking timed it! For comparison: a millisecond is ten to the minus third. Think it's a cheat? And I answer—NO WAY! Mom, using "Force sight," detects an object that has entered her field of view THREE times faster. In theory, if I develop my ability, I'll be able not only to speed up the wave itself, but also increase its power. The only problem is that neither I nor Mom know how to develop it, because nothing like this has ever happened before.
Warning me not to show off this trait, she got serious about my training.
***
"Auh, oh, ai, a-a-a-ahhu-hu-hu-hu-u-u-uu—" my scream cut off when something heavy flew into my chest, and I couldn't dodge it. "Uu-uh, khah-khah-khah. Oh…"
"Alive?" Mom walked up, leaned down, and stared hard into my eyes.
"Just great…" I stick up my thumb. "Ow…" my hand cramps sharply, and I pull it to myself.
"Heh."
Squatting, she began moving her hand over the injured spots, using Force healing. About a minute of "magic," and it's a little easier. At least I can move. Despite her kindness, Mom was very brutal in training, and I got hit hard and often. Especially at first.
"Again!"
"E-e-eh!" Getting up, I brace myself for the next serving of pain. Come on, Shade, you'll endure. At least it's better I get it in training than a slipper to the back of the head for running through the house in dirty shoes. Or is she still sulking because I once again devoured "Sweet Joy" all by myself? Most likely.
***
Jump, duck, step, a leaping turn and landing. Set a hard block against an invisible opponent, redirect the weapon to the side, and with a Force blast smear the dummy against the wall.
Turning to Mother, I look into those serious eyes and smile. Mom nodded to herself and broke into a smile. For a full minute, she threw vegetables at me from five different sides and didn't hit me once, while I still had to deal with the dummies.
"Good job!" she praised, stepping closer and ruffling my hair. Though there was nothing hard about it. Remember dodgeball? As a kid I loved that game to hiccups. And now that love got layered onto two traits at once and turned into something new and so interesting! Though, to be fair, I have to admit it was hard to start, because bruises, bumps, and scrapes were beyond counting—but I'm used to it. My own evil Pinocchio.
Now, about those traits—but first, let me explain something. Everyone knows the song: "In every little child, in every boy and every girl, there are two hundred grams of explosive, or even half a kilo"? I proved the truth of that saying on my own experience. And now, attention, question: where do you put all that energy that gushes out of your ass like a fountain and urges you to do something stupid but interesting? For an ordinary kid, that energy goes into mischief, toys, and street games. But I'm not ordinary! I'm a headcase son of an even more unhinged Togruta woman who can, alone, shred a whole special forces battalion into salad—without particularly breaking a sweat. And I'm not joking. To my surprise, Mom specializes in… killing. And it's not about bloodlust, or mental deviation, or any other filth. No, it's much simpler. It's her worldview, with a point that goes: "Spare the enemy—doom a friend." And Mom doesn't spare. She hits only once, but with her whole soul—and with a guarantee.
That life stance went down for me better than bread and salt, and so I, inspired by my parent's example, tried to imitate within the limits of my development and talents, soaking up everything I was shown or told no worse than a sponge. Yes, sometimes Mom overdid it in training. Yes, sometimes I got hit so hard I felt dead among the living. Yes, sometimes they dropped "Force pressure" on me made purely of negative energy. But I endured! And I remembered those Jedi—and especially Yoda (I don't even know what he did to me, but I really, really disliked him)—with their "the dark side is quicker, easier." Bullshit! You hear me, green shorty? Bull. Shit. Sitting and meditating is easy; try staying calm when you're being kicked, set on fire, sometimes turned into a hedgehog, and sometimes put through an electric discharge that, for an ordinary person, would actually kill. What-what? That's not humane? Well, congratulations, pal—you're on Tython, they've never heard of humane here. And besides, experienced Je'daii sometimes die just because they got eaten, so the situation dictates its conditions.
But back to my mother. Let's count the traits I ended up with: all Togrutas without exception are predators and learn to move from birth, and to make it easier and quieter, they move without shoes. Instead, special wraps are wound on the feet to protect from sprains, and I wasn't an exception despite being a half-blood—that's one. Because it's one thing to move silently with the Force, and quite another to do it without.
Next, my current mentor—and part-time mother—is one of the best killers. What can a person… a Togruta like that teach? Answer: correctly—how to kill. Hand-to-hand combat training and blade training became a dense part of my life. No, I didn't become some mega-assassin or anything. Compared to Mom, I'm nobody, and I still have a lot to learn. But I can't be called "harmless" now either, because if anything happens, I can hit back properly. Add survival skills—and you get something capable of living in Tython's realities.
Now, about the Force. I didn't drop THAT discipline in any way, and I'm not going to. Rejoicing no less (or even more) than over a box of candy, I trained enthusiastically in that sphere. Formally, Mom was breaking tradition by teaching me—not only earlier than I should, but also now, instead of the temple teachers. I should already have entered Padawan Kesh, but I'm still doing private lessons with Mother. And what else am I supposed to do if I'm shoveling this knowledge in by the bucket? And to make it interesting, the whole process was turned into a game.
For example: guessing. She takes three cups and a seed. I have to guess which cup the seed is under, relying exclusively on the Force. With experience in finding secret candy stashes, this came pretty easily. True, if I guess wrong, I'll get a solid shock hidden like a mine under the false cup. So, as a side note, I learned to defuse Force traps—yeah, there's that kind of nastiness here too. I can't set them yet, but I can sort of defuse them. Bruises and burns help, so to speak. On the other hand, the "atrocities" were moderate and sparing, and some of the energy got burned off.
Or hide-and-seek. Mom hid, and I searched, and vice versa. But you had to search first and foremost not with eyes, but with the Force. The only thing I got by on was the sense of kinship. If not for that, I'd never find her in my life. But they found me. Always. In the first second. She would just finish counting and immediately "spot" me, but for fun she'd pretend to search. I could see it in her eyes, which kept flicking toward my location. But the most annoying part is that when I'm searching, she always—always—sees me. Always nearby. Yet I have to tear myself inside out to find her. I remember the moment the wrap on my leg tore. I was on the stairs then, got tangled, and flew down from the third floor straight onto glass. I couldn't fly, and I couldn't slow my fall either, but luckily for me the whole flight lasted exactly two seconds, after which I got caught. One moment—and she's right there. Standing, holding me, and smiling. I'd never had a feeling like I did then. A feeling of pride and safety mixed with complete hopelessness.
"I'll never reach that level of mastery," I thought then.
But there's one detail worth noting. Since the search was through the Force, I decided to ask: "Can you hide it?" Mom smiled then and tried to explain that it wouldn't work for me. Not that level. But I reminded her about my second sight and kept insisting. In the end, she gave in. To be honest, what I was told was from the genre of "Break your brain," but I tried. It was interesting. And it was necessary. There are many dangers on Tython—three dozen species of deadly predators alone. And when the time for pilgrimage comes, I'll need to be able to hide. Hide well. So… it's just a pity the successes are small. "Fold up your aura and merge with the background of the Force," you know, is somewhat problematic. But nothing—first step's taken. Now all that's left is to develop, and that's time and training.
So my day now looked like eight stages: early rise, speed breakfast (last one washes ALL the dishes in the evening), physical training in the yard, theory, then lunch, Force exercises, surviving training with that same Force, dinner (if you lost—dish duty), shower, and sleep. The order changed, some things varied, but the essence stayed roughly like that. But sometimes… events happened that knocked the rhythm out of place. For example, when unexpected "guests" showed up at our place.