"Don't grin. If my instinct isn't lying, Ramira has enormous potential in that field. The kind you won't ever see. Now here's a question: you're hurt, you're lying there bleeding out—who do you turn to for help?" People fell quiet, and Ramira's aura turned into an even more nuclear cocktail of embarrassment, hope, joy, and indignation. "That's what I thought. She, just like you, will fight. But while you fight monsters and enemies, she will fight death for your lives. You hurt her without even wanting to know her. I did. Every day, studying Shyriiwook with her, I saw the books she reads. I saw what her talent leans toward. And you know what? I can state with full confidence that despite all your words and all the hurt, this girl will still fight for you," by the end of my speech, it was painful to look at the Zabrak twins. I'd never seen guilt like that in anyone. And Ramira, by that point, had wrapped herself around my arm and was simply pressing close. "Now it's your turn," I whisper, and, freeing my limb, gently nudge that shy girl toward the twins.
"Oh… um…" she looks back at me, then at the twins.
"Listen, Ramira…" the first began.
"We… went too far. With our words."
"Yeah. And… we admit we were wrong."
"Please forgive us?"
"Well… alright. I'm not offended," embarrassed up to her horns, the future medic lowered her gaze.
"Really?" Feng asked, lifting his head.
"Really."
"Thanks! We…"
The guys started chattering and, swarming Ramira, tried to talk her up, giving too much attention to a girl not used to it. The Wookiee didn't stay on the sidelines—he simply scooped the Zabrak girl into a hug, while Lina tried to save her friend from being strangled. Vessira sidled up to me.
"Surprised me," she whispered.
"As usual."
"Can you be more modest?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Nope. Not interesting that way."
"You're hopeless," she rolled her eyes and punched my shoulder lightly.
"I don't remember us becoming such close friends."
"You passed the test."
"A test?" I lift an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Like a probation period. I thought you were one of those golden kids…" she waved a hand in the air, "you know—the ones from Chikaagu, the clan types. You do have… special 'acquaintances,' after all. Like your mother. And people like that don't come from nowhere."
"Well thaa-ank you. I don't even know whether I should be offended by that or happy…"
With that, I turn and head toward the meditation classroom.
"Where are you going?" Vessira was surprised. "Did I offend you?" There was even more surprise in that last question than in the first.
"No. It's just that the bell already rang, and we have class with Master Runa now." Hearing that, the others snapped to attention and hurried over.
"Then why aren't you rushing?" Lina cut in, running around me and walking backward. Sometimes Miraluka kill me with their three-hundred-sixty-degree vision.
"Rush to a meditation class?" I make a skeptical face. "Nope."
After thinking a moment, the group agreed with me. It's the most hated subject in the whole academy. And it's not because sitting and meditating is mind-numbingly boring. No. It's because the entire lesson is accompanied by the irritating droning of the old Twi'lek who teaches it. His monotonous voice is freezing. Like an old recording, he repeats the same words over and over. At first you don't notice, but then students enter a meditative state for one single reason: not to hear him. I'd bet they keep him for exactly that, because dropping into meditation in such a short amount of time—you really have to know how.
***
BANG!
An explosion thundered in one of the Force practice halls. An attempt to create ball lightning and direct it at a target resulted in me creating something that doesn't look like lightning, but has far greater destructive potential.
"SHADE!!!" Master Uval barked.
"Ugh…" I get up off the floor, looking around the hall. My group is coming to their senses too. "Yes, Master Uval?"
"I told you to focus Force lightning in your hand. What did you do?!"
"Um… tried to complete the assigned task?"
"Idiot! How many times did I repeat that to produce Force lightning you need to concentrate on the Force while giving it the proper structure!"
Thump—he smacked me on the head with my own note-book. We don't have notebooks, but we do have books where we write down notes and personal remarks.
"But I tried!"
"You made a Force discharge, idiot—you still need to set polarity! Who was I performing for, describing the process?"
"Master, I'm sorry…" I wilt… I may be a dumbass, but the Master is right.
"Sorry?!"
"Master, breathe deeper. Try to keep your balance—you're already sparking, and your eyes turned yellow…"
"Why, I'll—"
Thump—another smack with my own book to the head. Yeah, Master Uval didn't like me before, and once he started teaching me, it got even worse. What can I do if I can't change the focus?! I just don't understand how to do it—Mom taught me the Force in a completely different way.
"And what are you all staring at?!" he snapped at the others, and the kids immediately started diligently cleaning up.
"Master, I understand you're angry…" he looked at me again. "…very angry, but I didn't do it on purpose!"
"Not in every lesson!" he flared up and raised the book again, and I pulled my head into my shoulders, bracing for yet another blow of fate.
"I'm an idiot, I admit it, I repent—just spare the book!"
The funniest thing is, on the other hand, I was also driving him up the wall. Just in my own way. I was interested in using the Force and the ways to transform it into different forms—and Master Uval was excellent at that. So I kept pestering him on purpose, squeezing out as much material as I could. The other thing is, it was hard for me, and not a single damn thing came out well on the first try. At least not in his classes. Also, I had problems stabilizing stored energy. For example, when the task is to accumulate the Force in a certain sphere but not discharge it into the surrounding space, I constantly get destabilization. Honestly, that's bad. Not catastrophic, but bad. If I can't stabilize energy that's trying to break loose, then Uval was right in some sense—I really do need to meditate more, restoring balance. Yoda said something about a "quick" and "easy" path. Come here, shorty—I'll show you a "quick" and "easy" path.
Because the problem with the dark side isn't that it flatters you. No. It's the equivalent of movement. The light side is the brake. Accelerate too hard—you won't be able to stop. But if you stop, you'll never move again. My problem is brakes, but I understand that, and I try to "slow down" when I really start to skid. Go on, shorty—tell ME it's easy when they periodically throw you into an arena and say, "Beat the critter," just so you'll know how to fight it. What peace—what are you even talking about? It's only adrenaline and hardcore!
And if you accelerate too much, you can enter the planet's field, so to speak—fall into resonance with it, and then all hell breaks loose. Force storms, earthquakes, fire tornadoes formed by those same storms… and all of it can start at any moment, because of you, or because of someone else.
Meanwhile, while I was thinking about the fleeting, Uval cooled down and gave a command in a firm, officer's voice:
"Continue the lesson! And you…" he looked at me, drilled me with his eyes for a moment, exhaled, and waved a hand. "Come on. I hope you've mastered group meditation."
"I have… why?"
"I'll try to guide you."
"Couldn't we have done that right away?" indignation burst out of me.
Thump—textbook to the head.
"Got it. I'm quiet…"
***
It wasn't by the Force alone that my life was lived. Even though Qigong Kesh focused primarily on it, the technical aspect couldn't be ignored. The temple had a small… how to put it, section? Annex? Corner? In short, a zone where representatives of Stav Keshe—the temple of science—had dug in. There was a storage room, several classrooms, and workshops. This little patch of Stav Keshe handled all the technical doodads. They repaired all the equipment of Qigong Kesh, and they also taught a number of classes to the locals regarding technology. You have to know at least the necessary minimum, right? They gave us surface-level lessons about ships, fighters, ranged weapons and melee weapons. Also, in that same corner, they gave us simple lessons in so-called "Force forging."
The information was provided not only for our comprehensive education, but also so we wouldn't end up with our asses bare among enemies if we suddenly didn't have a weapon in our hands. Or so it would be easier to care for that weapon—sharpen it, pour the Force into it, modify it if necessary. And it just so happened that I spent there, whenever possible, a little more time than I was supposed to. After all, I was an isekai'd outsider, and this little corner of the temple of science was my very source of technical knowledge about the world I now live in.
Yes, I understood they wouldn't give me a specialized education. But still, thanks to them, I was able to understand how to work with certain metals, how to use Force-powered artifacts, how to pilot an aircraft. I mean, a real Je'daii aircraft has no buttons. Only a yoke. All the rest of the control is carried out through the Force. How that process happens, how to get into the essence of a machine, how to understand what broke, what can break…
And Master Drags, one of the local luminaries of science, "in secret" shared with me that any machine is, in fact, alive. If it isn't a dry assembly-line build, of course. A craftsman, creating a device—whatever it may be—puts a piece of his soul into it, so such tech will, in a certain sense, glow in the Force. Just a little. You still have to be able to see it, of course, but the fact remains. And if the craftsman is also its owner, then a connection forms between them. That's why devices you personally modified, built—or even just talk to—will be, in some sense, alive.
As an example, he cited a case from his own life. Master Drags had no left arm; instead he had a mechanical arm powered by the Force, and he lost the real one in an accident. He's a pilot, and in one of the conflicts he came under fire. Being linked with his machine, he himself didn't understand what happened—his aircraft suddenly jerked aside, and the burst that should've torn the cockpit apart only shot off a wing. Later, he found out that right before the hit, one of the stabilizers malfunctioned, and that's what threw the machine. But the timing…
In short, he loaded me up heavily. And not just me—my friends, who at first tried to pull me out of there, also got interested. So sometimes you could find us there, for example, disassembling or assembling a comlink, or sharpening a weapon, or doing some other small but useful everyday task.
And they also showed me how a holocron works. A phenomenal device—at the junction of technology and the Force. Only someone who uses the Force can open it, but once the holocron is open, even ordinary people can interact with it by connecting it to a special terminal port. And even though they showed me, explained it, and even let me hold it, I didn't figure the thing out. Too complex. Too advanced. Just… too much.
Though when we accidentally wrecked one of the machines… and a few other small things, but that's not important—of course they got mad at us, then forgave us, but the punishment was terrifying.