Stargazer Joe

By Manuel Sieunarine

Author's note:

My words shall fade with time. There are heroes, however, whose acts are timeless. Though time wears away all else, their deeds live on in the hearts of those they touch.

When heroes die…

When darkness descends…

The great love heroism inspires never fails. It is this spirit that survives all darkness.

888

I envy others. Their first memories are of their parents' faces, a frustrating toy, or even their first pain. It is not so for one such as myself, and I am one. Unique. Separate from all others.

"Wake up."

The first voice I heard was not that of my parents. Imagine – if you will – what it is like to stare down a dark, empty well. Close your eyes, still your breathing and feel only your heartbeat. Now feel that heartbeat spread to the floor beneath you, to the walls, ceiling, even the screen you now read. It is your heartbeat and yet… it is more.

"Wake up, Stargazer."

To think I was that stubborn… it required two promptings before I stirred from the soft warm sleepy darkness. I was still blind, still incomplete, my mother's heartbeat resounding above and around me while my own feeble heart lay silent, waiting to be born.

I am loved… my parents want me… I have meaning. I knew this.

But…

In this midst of this safe quiet peaceful nest there was another pulse. I listened, and its gentle susurrations formed words.

"I am everywhere within you around you outside you. I am your thoughts your mind your will your spirit your soul. I am your purpose your meaning your life your all."

I did not resist. How could I? I was at zero, sensing what every other child knew… but this whispering voice brought me from bliss to knowledge. And thus, the first memory I ever possessed was the other heartbeat murmuring that I was not individual or solitary within my own body.

I was a vessel. I still am… to me "I"does not mean myself alone, but me and something else. I had no name for this esoteric, egotistical companion until I knew language other than the ambiance of the womb. Then, the Force no longer spoke to me, but it does whisper, as subtle as the specks of light dust motes reflect in sunshine.

It maddens me that in gaining the crude, slapdash sound wave mode of communication that I lost the infinitesimally graceful language of the Force. I could only perceive it as humans perceive insect movement – sporadically, inaccurately and (more often than not) with annoyance.

I knew my parents until I could walk and talk. They were close to me, but never as close as the Force which behaved like my spoilt, aggravating sibling, getting between me and my parents. Whenever I felt safe in my father's arms, it would caution to be wary. When I relaxed on my mother's lap, it would sigh that life is not a comfortable journey. That constant irritation produced no pearl, but it made breaking familial bonds easier (as if that was any sort of consolation!). I did not look back or cry… the Force mentally shrugged and said nothing lasts forever. I angrily asked, "Do you last forever?" and it replied to the effect of, "Yes, did you have any doubts?" with such calm confidence I shut up. My hand never left my Knight's neutral brown robes. I took comfort in their weathered scent and his tranquil mind, and was grateful that the Force did not have any quips to the contrary. Perhaps it was implying that my only peace is the Force, but I knew otherwise when I married.

888

The Jedi Temple on Corellia scampered with life. I couldn't go into a room without some multi-legged creature running along the floor or up the walls. It was there my Knight gave me my very first… flashlight. I didn't know what to make of the cylindrical gray metal handle. I looked at the shiny lens, and received my first lesson. I understood why I wasn't supposed to do that when I pointed it away from me, flipped the switch and a green beam bore a neat round hole in the flooring. My Knight said a bad word and covered that section of the floor with a mat, and it was then I received my second lesson.

From then on I was trained in Shii-Cho, which I called 'basic flashlight handling'. At least the Zabrak in my class thought it was funny, so we were fast friends. Humour was my greatest ally during the curmudgeon of religious rhetoric that accompanied class. They tied a lock of my hair into a braid that fell over my right shoulder. A utility belt with all sorts of queer little gadgets was buckled around my waist. I saw the same set of droll robes day after day after day on my Knight and other tutors, except ours folded over our right shoulders and theirs folded over their left. The same exciting wardrobe went for my class and me. As with any young boy made of flesh and bone, a stupor set in that demanded attention.

So I went ahead and altered the long-cherished Code upheld by the blood and sweat of our predecessors.

"There is no emotion; there is boredom.
There is no ignorance; there is misdirection.
There is no passion; there isn't any fashion either.
There is no chaos; there is disorder.
There is no death; but we brought a flashlight just in case."

My Zabrak cohort cackled. My Knight overheard us and remanded us to fifty pushups. Nursing sore arms put us off from violating sacred tradition for at least that afternoon.

888

We quickly learnt that conformity is better than pain. We were, however, in excellent physical condition by our first teenage birthday. But that was the time of the divide. No Knight would take my friend as a padawan… he was relegated to some pseudo-Sentinel work on some obscure Outer Rim planet. I had my Knight, and we were Consulars, but I felt the loss of my companion in laughter keenly.

And that mental shrug rippled through my head. Nothing lasts forever. I told it to go away, but it took a backseat, crossed its arms and arched the figurative eyebrow.

"Fine, stay… as if you're any help to me."

I thought it smiled.

888

My Knight asked why I muttered under my breath, and I explained "that thrice-damned Force" at which he nodded sagely and said nothing, meaning he knew nothing or very little of my predicament. We were supposed to be greater Force adepts than fighters, so my training never went beyond Shii-Cho for the first two years of my padawan service. Instead, my Knight and I spent long hours cramping our legs in the meditation lotus. Instead of focusing on my breathing and feeling the Force flow evenly through the world around me, I held silent, extended arguments with the latter. We did not communicate with words per se, but with emotions and imagery.

"What do you mean, you don't flow evenly through everything?"

"You are a man. Do you believe I bother rocks and trees?"

"No, this is why they are so peaceful."

"You can learn from them… peace is being satisfied with what you have."

"I heed my lessons, but I am never satisfied with who I am."

"And that, my very young friend, is why I am here."

I audibly sighed. My Knight asked what was wrong.

"That thrice-damned Force."

"Ah," he nodded and said nothing.

888

Our first mission came during my sixteenth year under the watchful eyes of my Knight and the Force. In the untamed forests of Dantooine, I assumed Battle Meditation in the safety of the leafy canopy while my Knight did battle with black market Diatium traders with whom negotiations had failed. The mystical connection of the Force, I understood, bonded us. It felt like my parental connection, but was more practical in terms of conflict resolution. By heightening his reaction time, I compensated for their energy shields and greater numbers. Guardians had no such combat difficulties but were more prone to injury. A scavenger, hoping to escape my Knight's blade, had chosen my tree to hide in. I pointed the lightsaber (the proper name for a Jedi flashlight) at his/her face and quickly switched it on and off. The body fell dead, as my Knight finished.

"Padawan, you used a debased technique."

"It worked."

"Tràkata is an assassin style. We are Consulars, arbiters of the Jedi and Republic. You are never to employ such a technique or even the Tràkata again lest you tarnish our titles."

"Yes, sir."

"Why don't you call me 'master'?"

"What part of you has mastered me?"

He threw up his hands in defeat. Signaling for me to follow, we returned to the city to make our report. I thought the Tràkata style was nifty if it involved switching on the saber at the last moment. It would take the opponent completely by surprise…

"Stop it."

"What?"

"You are entertaining the Dark Side."

"Is it really that bad?"

A blow to the back of my head sent me sprawling. My Knight was also surprised because nobody was there.

"Thrice-damned Force."

"How's that for the element of surprise?"

I abandoned happy thoughts of Tràkata style. The Force was sneakier and wickeder by several orders of magnitude. Later on, I realized, it used such childish methods of persuasion because I was still a child. Soon I would come to rely on it… I loathed dependency on that smirking spectre, but its rhetoric from the womb proved to be truth itself.

How I hate admitting defeat.