The race was drawing closer and closer, and every spare moment disappeared into training and learning to work in combat synchronization with Skippy.
His gift of Battle Precognition had turned out to be far more advanced than mine.
In many ways, the Shard had been unlucky.
The Force constantly bombarded my crystalline friend with vast visions of the future, futures that shifted and changed endlessly.
Following Qui-Gon’s advice, after he admitted that this was the strongest and most uncontrolled manifestation of the gift he had ever seen, we decided to stop taking seriously any prediction that extended beyond the next week.
The problem was finding someone capable of teaching a Shard how to restrain such a gift.
I couldn’t remember any surviving Jedi seers.
Fortunately, the Shard’s crystalline brain seemed capable of enduring the strain.
At least, aside from the fact that he genuinely believed himself to be an R5-series astromech droid.
That wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.
The important thing was that the guy…
the sentient being…
was a good person.
Unfortunately, we still hadn’t managed to achieve anything resembling a Force-bond or any similar technique.
Qui-Gon merely repeated that I needed to spend more time meditating and stop trying to master techniques I wasn’t ready for.
For now, all I could do was improve my Binary.
Although lately I’d been seriously considering simply installing a proper vocal module for the Shard.
This time, having finally found a relatively free day, I headed to my inherited property accompanied by Vuz and Reva.
I didn’t have access to better experts.
Besides, between race preparations and training, I’d been spending less time around the former Inquisitor.
First, we were responsible for those we had tamed.
Second, Qui-Gon insisted that prolonged, unjustified neglect of someone subjected to such a deep, personal mental influence could have serious effects on their emotional stability.
What exactly I’d done to her remained unclear.
I had already briefed both the aristocrat and the former Padawan during the journey, though not in complete detail.
Fortunately, the route between Anchorhead and Mos Espa wasn’t exactly ideal for eavesdropping.
By the time we arrived, the three of us, four if Skippy was included, had already settled into conversation.
That discussion eventually transformed into a short lecture by Vuz Kazm regarding Tatooine property law and utility payments for students who had slept through the relevant Agricultural Academy courses.
Combined with Skippy’s discoveries after dismantling the protocol droid, namely that the house’s water system operated as a closed loop and that the purification unit remained fully functional with only minor maintenance required, such as replacing oil and a few consumable components, I felt reasonably secure.
No Jawa was going to steal my house tomorrow.
My wonderful crystalline friend had even managed to reactivate the MagnaGuards that had protected the residence from unwanted visitors for…
well, we still didn’t know exactly how many years.
A lot.
I brought the old X-34 landspeeder, the same model Luke and Obi-Wan used in Episode IV, to a halt before the gates of my new home.
Receiving Skippy’s signal, they obediently slid apart and admitted us inside.
The previous owner apparently hadn’t believed in garages, forcing vehicles to remain outside.
Neither Skippy nor I approved.
“Ladies and individuals approaching retirement age first,” I announced theatrically as I opened the door for my guests.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Vuz ignored the jab with all the composure expected of a nobleman, despite being only a little more than ten years older than me.
Reva, however, smiled.
Behind me, Skippy erupted into a stream of indignant Binary complaints regarding his exclusion from the privileged categories, but I ignored him.
Starting an argument with the Shard wasn’t worth ruining my unexpectedly good mood.
Ah, hormones.
And then there was Qui-Gon Jinn, the traitor.
He had informed me that no techniques existed for resisting them, nor should any exist.
As though he didn’t know how badly that tended to end for Skywalkers.
“Peak fashion from half a century ago,” Vuz’s voice interrupted my thoughts as he reached the common room containing the table I had nearly used to kill MagnaGuards.
“Naboo pine.
Logging and export were prohibited immediately after the Naboo blockade.” My mentor in political theory, humanities, and aristocratic fashion truly was impressive.
No notes.
And yet drunken Rodians had nearly stabbed this man to death.
What a terrible galaxy.
Kazm continued studying the furnishings.
There wasn’t much to inspect, but what remained was interesting.
Reva simply stayed near me, quietly observing her surroundings without comment.
“If that’s everything, show me the second floor,” said the Tapani native after finishing his examination of the dining area.
“I want the complete picture.” There was nothing else to do.
We headed upstairs.
I immediately opened the right-hand door leading toward the office and bedroom area.
The small cleaning droid had done its best after receiving permission to operate there.
The bedding and robes had been cleaned using a maintenance system we had discovered on the first floor.
Even so, the living quarters still felt strange.
I had removed the case containing the lightsaber beforehand.
Vuz certainly knew I was Force-sensitive, but there was no reason to leave it lying around.
After inspecting the residential area and then the training section, the brain of our operation finally delivered his conclusions.
“The living quarters reflect Coruscanti fashion from approximately fifty years ago, though with a subtle regional influence.
I believe the owner was raised within an aristocratic family but spent much of his life elsewhere while retaining his original habits.
The organization of both working and living spaces is unusual.
Most likely nobody lived here permanently.
The owner visited periodically or possessed very unusual domestic habits.
A solitary individual.
Most likely male.
There was definitely no wife, no regular lovers, and no female slaves present when the property was abandoned.
Probably not a smuggler.
The databases were destroyed, correct?” I nodded.
Kazm made it clear he had nothing further to add.
That left the central mystery.
Time to proceed carefully.
“I have a theory about who lived here, based on their profession,” I said, withdrawing the lightsaber from my inner pocket.
The notebook remained hidden.
Written in beautiful calligraphy, it contained detailed notes on basic Jedi exercises involving both lightsaber forms and Force techniques, complete with hand-drawn diagrams.
That was going straight to Qui-Gon first.
I had far too many questions regarding my mysterious grandfather.
Carefully rotating the weapon to ensure the lightsaber wouldn’t accidentally remove anyone’s limbs upon activation, like in a particularly memorable video from my previous life, I ignited it.
A green lightsaberextended with a familiar snap-hiss.
Lightsaber.
Was that even technically correct?
Wasn’t it actually contained plasma?
Green.
Just like Luke’s lightsaber in Episode VI.
Except Luke had built that weapon himself between Episodes V and VI using Obi-Wan’s notes and a synthetic crystal.
So many questions.
So few answers.
And the gap widened every day.
I looked toward Reva, waiting for her reaction.
“Mas…” The former Inquisitor caught herself, remembering my repeated instructions that she restrain such submissive impulses around other people.
“Luke, may I see it?” Without speaking, I deactivated the weapon and handed it over.
The dark-skinned young woman examined the hilt carefully.
Nothing seemed unusual to me.
Just a lightsaber.
Though admittedly, I still knew very little about them.
If only I could find a competent teacher.
Since Obi-Wan seemed committed to playing the role of wise old hermit, I’d apparently have to rely on the former youngling whose attention remained rather intensely focused on me.
Entirely her own fault.
She shouldn’t have tried to kill me.
Then again, my actions hadn’t exactly helped matters.
So everyone was guilty.
Which somehow left me contemplating uncomfortable implications regarding age differences.
Or perhaps, as one mysterious internet philosopher from the early 2000s of my previous life had once argued, it didn’t count.
Damn hormones again.
Life was surprisingly difficult inside the body of a thirteen-year-old boy.
“This resembles a completely ordinary standard lightsaber,” Reva finally said.
“The sort Padawans build with their Masters.
Fairly simple.
Nothing exceptional.
I recognize the metal and some of the components.
They came from the Temple.
We were shown how lightsabers were assembled during a field trip to Ilum.” “A Jedi aristocrat,” Vuz concluded.
“Do Jedi often change lightsabers?” “Not really, as far as I remember,” Reva admitted.
“Most members of the Order used their first lightsaber their entire lives.
But building another one was never forbidden.
You could make a second weapon, replace a lost one, or create something more suitable for new skills.” “I doubt Tatooine ever had a resident Jedi protector.
This is Hutt Space, after all,” the aristocrat continued.
“All information in the house was deliberately destroyed.
The surviving weapons have no obvious connection to the Republic.
Perhaps this served as a safehouse for one of the Jedi’s covert agents before being abandoned after the destruction of the Order.” And what kind of Jedi hid his son by selling him into slavery?
Granted, the Order had produced more than its share of lunatics.
Jorus C’baoth immediately came to mind.
Still, something about the entire situation felt wrong.
The owner had apparently been seen shortly before the Clone Wars.
Then there was the Separatist carbine and the MagnaGuards.
I wasn’t even sure when MagnaGuards had first entered production.
Thinking about my mysterious grandfather was beginning to hurt.
And even if I learned his name today, what would it actually change?
“All right,” I said, raising my hands.
“I admit that anything beyond this point is pure speculation.” It was time for a distraction.
And time to take advantage of the opportunities available to me.
We had at least a couple of hours.
I might as well focus on self-improvement with someone actually willing to help instead of waiting for Obi-Wan to stop meditating and notice Darth Vader heading toward the Lars homestead.
“Since we have some free time, I hope you’ll show me a few basic lightsaber techniques,” I said, turning toward a visibly pleased Reva.
“What exactly did they teach younglings in the Temple?” Kazm cleared his throat politely.
Right.
I had nearly forgotten about him.
“Vuz, there’s a bottle of Corellian wine in the office.” “Corellian,” the Tapani corrected automatically.
“Yes, that.
Bottom drawer.
Thermal packaging.
I think studying the label could greatly benefit our investigation.” The satisfied alcoholic aristocrat excused himself and departed for his tasting session.
Hopefully he wouldn’t return in five minutes asking me to open the bottle with a lightsaber.
Winking at the former Inquisitor, I assumed the first training stance described in my grandfather’s notes and prepared to activate the weapon.
“Wrong,” Reva said immediately.
“Wider stance.
Your feet should align with your shoulders.” At least this part of my education promised to be useful and entertaining.
No one was going to take it easy on me.
Which was good.
The other owners of red lightsabers scattered throughout the galaxy would certainly be less accommodating.
Most of them would prefer to kill me, enslave me, or at best recruit me into the Sith.
With enough effort, perhaps I’d survive my first real encounter with danger.
Though it would have been nice if my mysterious grandfather had left behind a few training sabers.
Apparently that was too much to hope for.
For now there would be no actual fencing.
Just endless repetition of the simplest fundamentals.