So.
Let me introduce myself.
Formerly Alexei Igorevich, now Shade Aero.
A twenty-five-year-old young man who died of brain cancer in his own world and was born in this one.
How?
No idea, but I console myself with the thought “through the Force.” In my past life, I was quite the character.
Complicated.
No, not so much complicated as willful.
Yes, that’s better.
As it happened, the phrases “You must” or “You have to” triggered uncontrollable fits of rage in me.
What happened to the offender in such cases goes without saying — I’ll just say nothing good.
How did I survive with that attitude?
Well, formally no one could touch me, since the note about “a mentally ill person with a brain tumor” was stronger than reinforced concrete.
And informally, I could handle myself.
Thanks to my mother, who dragged me through fight clubs as a kid and actually trained me.
And I didn’t push my luck too hard.
And although I was considered at best a psycho, my head worked very, very well.
I just fundamentally disliked the boundaries that were set.
But I wasn’t some thug either.
My personal moral standards often clashed with generally accepted ones.
Hence the conflicts.
Try to suck up to get a higher position?
Hell no!
Grovel under my superiors’ rudeness?
Deck ’em and walk away coolly!
Watch idiots torment kids?
I’d rather hang myself than walk past.
Think it’s hard to live with that attitude?
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, things I valued, things worth fighting for.
And I fought.
At least I tried.
Yes, I had a good heart.
Many people told me that, but I’d joke it off and just bring small gifts to my “brothers” and “sisters” in misfortune.
And they even offered me a place in the house of death myself — but no thanks.
I lived free and left free, trying to take from life as much as I could.
But who knew this wouldn’t be the end, but only the beginning?
* * * I came to slowly.
Very slowly.
Sensations returned unhurriedly, detail by detail.
As if someone was assembling me like a puzzle.
And during the assembly, it was dark, quiet, warm, and calm.
Very calm.
Although no, I’m lying.
Muffled, incomprehensible sounds reached me, impossible to make out.
I myself, judging by the sensations, was lying curled up in a ball.
Unfortunately, my senses were heavily dulled.
Time felt stretched, but there was no need to hurry either.
Thoughts rolled in waves, muscles occasionally cramped with spasms.
And although it was unpleasant, in those moments I understood — my arms and legs were intact.
This continued until I finally fully came to and tried to move deliberately.
And the moment I did, one simple fact finally dawned on me.
I’m floating in something.
Also, my guess about my posture was confirmed.
I really was lying curled up.
The first conscious thoughts that came to mind I really, really didn’t like, but I saw no other explanation.
Making mental notes, I simply waited, silently praying to my own delirium.
But after coming to, I seemed to start seeing the world…
no, not seeing, but sensing somehow?
I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.
Waves seemed to emanate from me.
They had no color, but passing through space, they reflected various colored outlines in it.
There were incomprehensible humanoids, there were buildings, and this looked like some kind of devices.
And as for the strange light-shows I could sometimes observe, there was nothing to say.
The waves emanating from me went very far, and most interestingly, I could control their frequency and range.
I found out that if I sent powerful waves too often, not only would I quickly pass out myself, but I’d also manage to sense a wave of nausea mixed with severe dizziness and weakness approaching me from somewhere outside.
Deciding never to do that again, I reduced these impulses to a minimum within a radius of a couple of meters.
But even that was enough.
Different, incomprehensible imprints of auras, unknown devices and structures.
I couldn’t understand or make out anything, but what worried me most was the aura I was inside.
Unclear, but so familiar.
As if it were mine, yet slightly different.
Questions kept accumulating, and there was nowhere to get answers.
I could only continue studying what I saw, nothing more.
And after a while, I realized it was definitely getting cramped.
Acting more on instinct, I tried to move a little, and then it began.
I don’t know what was happening, but an echo of terrible pain approached me, and I myself began to be literally pushed out somewhere.
Not only did the sense of weight change uncomfortably, but it also became as if hard to breathe.
Spasms twisted my lungs, but that was still bearable.
Then came a feeling of periodic compression.
As if the walls were constantly closing in, with no exit anywhere.
As if I hadn’t had enough impressions and sensations, Fear was added to it.
I reflexively pushed off with my feet, as if trying to escape, and — oh miracle — I actually managed something!
I see light!
I’d like to joke about “the light at the end of the tunnel,” but I was clearly in no mood for jokes.
Bright light slashed at my eyes, unpleasant cold struck my skin, and my ears exploded with a whole muffled cacophony of unpleasant sounds.
Smells joined the noise.
Strange, indistinct, and immediately after, it felt like a bonfire was lit in my lungs, they started burning so intensely.
My “wave” vision immediately kicked in, filling the world around with additional colors and emotions.
Yes, yes, emotions.
When the wave hit one or another colored object, an echo returned to me carrying the imprint of the emotions that being was experiencing.
Thank…
whoever, because there were only three of these beings, and joy dominated in all of them.
I try to show displeasure, but instead only a cry escapes my throat.
A baby’s cry of a newborn child.
“No…
this can’t be.
This is madness!
Madness!!!
This is simply impossible!” panic grips me in steel arms.
I don’t understand anything.
I can’t do anything.
And damn it, how awful this feels…
But at the same time, the unpleasant sensations quickly fade into the background, and panic quickly gives way to hysterics.
But before I can get going, I’m quickly wiped down and wrapped in something soft, and then handed to someone.
That same third aura I was taken from radiated calm and protection, and its emotions were simply an indescribable cocktail of positive feelings.
Slightly parting my eyes, with a blurry, unfocused gaze I notice a beautiful woman of about twenty-five.
And that would be fine, but SHE WAS RED.
Light red skin, with white pigments on her face creating a predatory pattern.
Instead of hair, something long and incomprehensible, and from under her lips, in a smile, quite sharp teeth peek out.
The beginning hysterics are beaten into a stupor, which is cemented by the following action: She gently kisses my head and presses me to her chest, quietly 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 fell asleep.
Yes, this is just a nightmare.
* * * Well…
the delusion 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 was I “reborn,” but the second blow to my psyche came from the world itself.
The first hallucinations turned out not to be hallucinations at all, and my “mom” really is a Togruta.
A beautiful representative of one of the races of the SW world.
But there was no sign of a father anywhere, as if I don’t have one.
The third blow to my psyche followed the second.
The suspiciously strange word “Je’daii” hints at not-so-good thoughts, and what the locals do makes my mouth drop open and my eyes bulge in surprise.
But at least now I understand the light-shows.
It turns out I saw Je’daii wielding the Force.
Basically, magic in the flesh.
And most importantly, my parents — at least one — definitely possesses the Force, therefore, in theory, I can pull off similar tricks too.
In principle, given what I’ve seen and done, I’m more than confident of that.
And now, with eyes full of joy, I nurse breast milk with a single thought: “What time period am I in?” This was the only question I cared about, because I’d already figured out which world I’d been thrown into, and I was even happy about it.
And I wasn’t bothered by the fact that I’m an infant.
Now I perfectly understand why people lose their memory of existence at this age, but I’m ready to walk this path in any form and format, simply because I died.
Died in my world.
The headache in my final days will stay with me forever, and therefore what I see around me absolutely cannot be a hallucination.
And besides: I breathe, I feel, I see and hear the world around me.
I rejoice, like the simplest child, at the woman tenderly nursing me and giving me a second chance.
And it doesn’t matter what this world is, even if it’s a delusion — because for the first time, I have hope for a truly happy life.
* * * I celebrated too soon.
Oh, too soon.
The real “surprises” were waiting for me ahead.
One of them was the local language, which was quite complex, but thank the Force, also multifaceted enough for building complex structures.
And my mother is separately teaching me the Togruta language.
This, if you’ll pardon the expression, language was incomparably more difficult than the common one, because besides the simple sounds made by the vocal cords, it included growls, squeaks, clicks of the tongue against the teeth — all in one package.
And you know what?
This language definitely appealed to me!
It amazed me with its beauty and versatility, and the sentences my mother sometimes produced — I’d just get lost listening.
I’d sit and carefully watch how her lips moved when she recited stories from books.
Without exaggeration, a mesmerizing sight.
And the way you can curse out your opponent — that’s a whole song in itself.
* * * “Come on.
Go ahead.
A step.
One more step.
O-op!” flopping into Mom’s arms, I relax.
Who would’ve thought learning to walk is such hard work?
I certainly never would have.
And now I’m relearning how to move.
Though, frankly, I’m not great at it.
On all fours — that works, I can do that.
But on my feet…
only with support.
Meanwhile, I’m turned around and set on the ground again, then she extends her arms a couple of centimeters away for me to walk to.
“What?!
Again?” “Come on?” She beckons invitingly.
“Come here,” her soft, velvet voice calls to me in Togruta.
“Ugh…” I groan mentally, but try to walk.
Thump!
Okay, don’t whimper.
Don’t whimper!
Screw the pain, I’m small but a proud man!
Yes.
Meanwhile, I’m scooped up in her arms, and she looks into my eyes.
Mom was smiling and cooing at my serious little face, wiping away the welling tears with her thumbs.
What’s wrong with me — I can control myself!
“Oh, my good boy, I see you’re determined.
One more time?” And she sets me on the floor, but holds me steady.
Come on, Shade, I can do this.
I can!!!
A ste-e-ep.
Another ste-e-ep…
* * * “Shade!!!” Mom shouted, grabbing my hands.
And me?
I didn’t do anything!
I’m just watching the adults work with the Force and trying to repeat it.
Unfortunately, most of the time it doesn’t work out.
The first time I smashed a chair into the wall.
The second time, I started a fire.
There hasn’t been a third time yet.
Mom won’t let me out of her sight and snatches me up at the slightest thing.
“Huh?” I just reply, looking into her displeased eyes.
In response, she unleashed a whole sentence of indignation and reproach.
Unfortunately, I still need to learn the local language and learn it again, let alone speak it, but I got the gist: “Don’t do that.” A logical question arises — why?
What am I doing wrong?
Sigh…
it’s a shame I can’t ask these questions out loud.
Not yet.
And doing anything else is boring.
No, seriously, am I supposed to play with a rattle with other kids?
Although, after I used the Force to throw a rattle right at the forehead of some annoying jerk, they don’t give me those kinds of toys anymore.
I don’t even know whether to be happy about that or not.
But there’s a plus side!
Mom started paying more attention to me.
* * * “Crunch, crunch, crunch…” a loud cracking sound came from the wooden cylinder under my sharp teeth.
If only anyone knew HOW badly my teeth itch!
This is just some kind of torture!
I can’t figure out how Togrutas handle this.
While my teeth greedily gnawed at the wood, my eyes jumped across the lines of a book, studying the letters and their meanings.
I randomly stumbled upon a page about the local timekeeping system.
It turns out time on Tython is measured somewhat differently from what I’m used to — I’d only guessed before, but now, even if by chance, I found confirmation.
(Who would’ve thought, in a children’s alphabet analogue?) A year has five hundred and twenty-four days, each of thirty-two hours.
So someone who’s five could easily look ten.
Another detail was that the locals didn’t have the concept of a “week” as such.
Nor a month, for that matter.
Instead, they had the concept of a “Takeda,” which consisted of twenty days.
To avoid going crazy, I started associating these “takedas” with simple months.
This news shook me up so much that I didn’t notice how much more diligently I attacked the cylinder.
“CRUNCH!” Damn!
I broke it again.
And this is already the seventh one, just this takeda.
Interestingly, if other kids are given something made of leather with a relatively soft filling, I get wood, because I chew through that leather stuff in about thirty seconds.
So, where’s that box with these wooden things?
* * * “Come on, Shade.” Mom stroked my head while healing a wound with the Force.
I clenched my teeth and endured.
It was probably a funny sight from the outside — tears in my eyes, teeth clenched, but I’m not whimpering.
I’m enduring.
The thing is, I mistook the candy box for the dishware box.
Knowing what a sweet tooth I am, Mom regularly hides the candy box, and each time further away.
This time, the box turned up on the kitchen cabinet.
Since I absolutely couldn’t reach it physically, I used the Force.
Or rather, I tried.
And unfortunately for me, I actually managed something.
Just with the wrong box.
Good thing it was open, and I got away with many small cuts and one big one, not to mention the bumps on my head.
“Be more careful,” she finished.
The wounds themselves were gone, but the shock and lingering pain…
“It…
was an accident!” She smiled and pressed me to her chest, gently stroking my head.
“There, there.
It’ll pass soon.” “I’m not crying!” I squirm.
“All goooood!” “Of course you’re not crying, you’re so strong,” and after a pause with a slight smirk she added: “and tough.” Now that’s just hurtful.
On the other hand, considering how many times I’ve gotten into trouble because of myself, the complaint is justified.
* * * Can you believe it — I actually have a father.
I asked and found out he was a Miraluka who left on a sleeping ship for other stars.
As far as I understood, my birth was the result of their farewell.
And judging by the emotions Mom experienced while telling me this, the farewell was like saying goodbye to someone dying.
I only found out why later — those who go to the stars on sleeping ships never return.
At least, no one who’s returned has been seen yet.
The sleeping ship itself is a half-kilometer behemoth filled with stasis pods for long, distant flights.
They were all armed with the latest technology, and generally each such ship is the pinnacle of technical achievement.
But the one my father left on is considered the last, and illegal at that.
Since there’s no communication or any information about the ships that left earlier, a ban was imposed on further use of such ships in space.
Not without reason, mind you — the Tython system is in such an anomalous sector that just looking at the sky, you can see how much nasty stuff is floating around in space.
And how are you supposed to fly out of there, I ask?
My dad was an explorer to the bone.
Dismantle something, study it, learn it — he didn’t need to be fed meat, just give him an artifact.
He crawled all over the so-called Old City, a mysterious and incomprehensible place buried in the sands of Tython.
Legend says there are functioning hypergates there.
I don’t know if that’s true or not, but judging by Mom’s evasiveness, Dad did find something there.
He also had some indirect connection to the “Stargazers” order.
A group of people who want to find out where their ancestors came from and are trying every possible way to figure out how to return home.
They don’t deal with the Tythonians — the locals tend toward isolation — while these guys, on the contrary, stick their noses into every crack.
I don’t know what relationship they had with my father — Mom doesn’t talk about it — but I’d guess it was business.
Probably.
Both they and Dad were digging up ancient artifacts.
But what I was able to understand is that Dad really did find something.
Something very important.
Something that made him, despite the ban, leave the system surrounded by his associates.
Be that as it may, I made a note to myself that I’ll need to visit the Old City in the future.
Just, you know, to see the sights.
After I’d slightly unveiled my lineage, I latched onto my mother with other questions, specifically about Force vision.
Mom explained that I was too young and shouldn’t even think about it, but after I told her about my second sight (which I used to find the candy!), she just blinked her eyes in surprise.
Coming out of her stupor, she began explaining in simple, clear terms the features of the Togruta and Miraluka species that had merged into one in me.
It turns out the montrals (horns, or lekku on the head) are hollow inside.
With them, Togrutas literally scan the surrounding space like sonar.
In Miraluka, an enhanced version of Force sight is present from birth.
Besides the fact that this eyeless people have spherical vision thanks to the Force, they also see perfectly through walls and can “sense” the emotions of those within their field of vision.
Unfortunately, this field is quite small, and to increase it, you have to train long and hard.
But in me…
these features stacked on top of each other.
I’ll never have the common “Force sight” everyone’s used to, but I have something of my own.
If Togruta waves are quite physical, mine consist of the Force, which is why they pass through ALL obstacles in their path and return with a huge array of information, including emotions.
This process takes less than an attosecond — that’s ten to the minus eighteenth power, if you please.
I timed it, dammit!
For comparison: a millisecond is ten to the minus third.
Call it cheating?
I say HE-LL NO!
Mom, using “Force sight,” detects an object within her field of vision THREE times faster.
In theory, if I develop my ability, I could not only speed up the wave itself but also increase its power.
But how to develop it, neither I nor Mom know, because such precedents have never occurred.
Warning me not to flaunt this ability, she got serious about my training.
* * * “Ow, oof, ow, a-a-a-a-ah-hoo-hoo-hoo-oo-oo,” my howl cut off when something heavy hit me in the chest, something I couldn’t dodge.
“Ugh…
kha-kha-kha.
Oh…” “Alive?” Mom came over, bent down, and stared intently into my eyes.
“Just great…” I give a thumbs up.
“Ow…” My arm suddenly cramps up, so I press it to myself.
“Heh.” Squatting down, she waved her hand over the injured spots, using Force healing.
About a minute of “magic” and I feel a little better.
At least I can move.
Despite her kindness, in training Mom was very harsh, which meant I got hit hard and often.
Especially at first.
“Again!” “Ugh!” I get up, ready for another round of beatings.
Come on, Shade, you can take it.
At least I’d rather take hits in training than get a slipper to the back of the head for running through the house in dirty shoes.
Or is she still pouting because I polished off the “Sweet Joy” all by myself again?
Probably.
* * * A jump, duck, step, a leaping turn and landing.
Put up a hard block against an invisible opponent, deflect the weapon aside, and with a Force push, splatter the training dummy against the wall.
Turning to my mother, I look into those serious eyes and smile.
Mom nodded to herself and broke into a smile.
For a minute, she threw vegetables at me from five different directions and didn’t hit me once, while I still had to deal with the dummies.
“Good job!” she praised me, coming over and ruffling my hair.
Although there was nothing complicated about it.
Remember dodgeball?
I loved that game as a kid.
And now that love combined with two abilities, resulting in something new and so interesting!
Though, to be fair, I have to admit it was hard at first — the bruises, bumps, and scrapes were beyond counting — but I’m used to it.
I’m my own worst enemy.
Now about the abilities, but first let me clarify something.
Everyone knows the song: “In every little child, boy or girl, there’s two hundred grams of explosives, or even half a kilo”?
I’ve personally verified the truth of that statement.
And now, the question is: where to put all that tremendous energy that’s bubbling out of your backside and urging you to do something stupid but interesting?
For a normal child, this energy goes into mischief, toys, and street games.
But I’m not normal!
I’m a cracked-in-the-head son of an even more deranged Togruta woman who single-handedly can shred an entire battalion of special forces into salad, without really breaking a sweat.
And I’m not joking at all.
To my surprise, Mom specializes in…
killing.
And it’s not about bloodlust, or a mental disorder, or anything nasty.
No, it’s much simpler.
It’s about her worldview, which includes this point: “Don’t spare the enemy — save your friend.” And Mom doesn’t spare.
She strikes only once, but from the heart and guaranteed.
This life philosophy suited me better than bread and salt, so, inspired by my parent’s example, I tried to imitate her to the best of my development and talents, absorbing everything shown or told to me like a sponge.
Yes, sometimes Mom crossed the line in training.
Yes, sometimes I got hit so hard I felt dead among the living.
Yes, sometimes I was hit with “Force pressure” made purely of negative energy.
But I endured!
And to hell with those Jedi, especially Yoda (I don’t know what he did to piss me off, but I really came to dislike him), with their “the dark side is more accessible and easier.” Bullshit!
You hear me, you green midget?
Com-plete bull-shit!
Sitting and meditating is child’s play, but try staying calm when you’re being kicked, set on fire, sometimes turned into a hedgehog, and occasionally shocked with an electric discharge that would kill a normal person.
Wha-what?
That’s not humane?
Well, congratulations, buddy, you’re on Tython — they haven’t heard of humanity here.
And generally, experienced Je’daii sometimes die just because they got eaten, so the situation dictates its own conditions.
But back to my mother.
Let’s count the particular circumstances I find myself in: all Togruta without exception are predators and learn to move from birth, and to move easier and quieter, they move without shoes.
Instead, their feet are wrapped in special bandages to prevent sprains, and I’m no exception despite being a half-breed — that’s number one.
Because it’s one thing to move silently using the Force, and quite another to do it without.
Next, my current instructor, who is also my mother, is one of the best assassins.
What can such a person…
Togruta teach?
The answer — right, how to kill.
Hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting became a dense part of my life.
No, I didn’t become some mega-killer or anything.
Compared to my mother, I’m nobody, and I still have a lot to learn.
But I’m not “harmless” anymore either — I can give a pretty good thrashing if need be.
Add survival skills — and you get something capable of living in the realities of Tython.
Now, regarding the Force.
I definitely didn’t drop this science and wasn’t about to.
Rejoicing no less (if not more) than over a box of chocolates, I enthusiastically trained in this area.
Formally, Mom was breaking tradition by training me — not only earlier than usual but also now, instead of the temple teachers.
I should have already enrolled in Padawan Kesh, but I’m still having private lessons with my mother.
But what the hell else can I do if I’m shoveling this knowledge in by the bucketload?
And to make it interesting, the process was turned into a game.
For example: guess.
She takes three cups and a seed.
I have to guess which cup the seed is under, relying solely on the Force.
With my experience in finding hidden sweet stashes, this came pretty easily to me.
True, if I’m wrong, I get a good shock, hidden like a mine under the false cup.
That’s how I learned to disarm Force traps — yes, there’s that kind of nasty stuff too.
I can’t set them yet, but I’ve somehow learned to disarm them.
Bruises and burns help, so to speak.
On the other hand, the “atrocities” were moderate and gentle, and some of the energy burned off.
Or take hide-and-seek.
My mother would hide, and I’d search, and then we’d switch.
But the searching wasn’t meant to be done with my eyes first — it was supposed to be done with the Force.
The only thing that ever worked for me was my sense of connection.
If it weren’t for that, I’d never have found her.
But they always found me.
Every time.
In the first second.
She’d finish counting and I’d be spotted immediately, but they’d pretend to keep looking just to make it interesting.
I could see it in her eyes, constantly darting toward my hiding spot.
But the most frustrating part was that when I was looking for her, she always, always saw me.
Always nearby.
And yet, I had to bend over backwards just to find her.
I remember the time I tore the bandage on my leg.
I was on the stairs, got tangled up, and fell from the third floor straight onto the glass.
I couldn’t fly, and I sure couldn’t stop my fall, but luckily the fall lasted exactly two seconds, and at the end of it, I was caught.
Just like that, and she was right there.
Standing, holding me, smiling.
I’d never felt anything like that in my heart before.
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?” My mother smiled then and tried to explain that I wouldn’t be able to do it.
I wasn’t at that level.
But I reminded her about my second sight and kept insisting.
Eventually, she gave in.
To be honest, what she told me was the kind of thing that makes your brain hurt, but I tried.
It was interesting.
And it was necessary.
Tython has a lot of dangers — at least three dozen species of deadly predators alone.
And when it came time for the pilgrimage, I’d need to know how to hide.
Hide well.
So…
it’s a shame my progress was so small.
“Folding your aura and blending into the Force background” is, you know, somewhat problematic.
But that’s okay, the first step was taken.
Now I just need to develop, and that takes time and training.
So my current day felt like eight stages: Early rise, breakfast on the clock (whoever’s last washes ALL the dishes in the evening), physical exercises in the yard, theoretical classes, then lunch, exercises with the Force, survival training using the same Force, dinner (if you lose, you do the dishes), shower, and sleep.
The sequence would change, some things varied, but the essence stayed roughly the same.
But sometimes…
events would break the usual rhythm.
For example, when uninvited “guests” showed up.
It all helps promote the story.