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blueskyingThere's me, there's a golden humanoid robot sitting next to me, there's a cylindrical dome-topped robot out on the floor, there's a suns-aged man in worn homespun regarding me with buried pain and pride and anticipation.
We're in a white pourstone room. The windows are like caves in the thick walls, and it's so much brighter outside that nothing can be seen. The air is dry and warm and still. I have sand between my toes, in my hair, caught in the whorls of my ears, there's some between my lips and teeth, it's definitely in my suns-bleached farmer's clothes, and none of that is remarkable at all. (I'm so young that I still have two hands.)
I'm busy reconnecting the linkages holding the golden robot's arm to his body. The worn man - Ben - is opening a chest. "Your father wanted you to have this, when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn't allow it."
He pulls something out from the chest. "He feared you might follow old Obywon (Obee Won?) on some damnfool idealistic crusade, like your father did."
His voice is familiar. Didn't I hear it in the memory of speed?
"Sir, if you'll not be needing me I'll close down for a while," the golden robot - Threepio - tells me, and I tell him to go ahead, distractedly, as I stand and Ben shows me the hilt of a lightsaber. (It's not the one from my other memories, the one I have now.)
I've never seen this before. "What is it?"
"Your father's lightsaber. The weapon of a Jedi Knight." He prompts me to take it, and I do, noting that it seems so heavy for its size. (The balance isn't the same as the green one's) "Not as clumsy or random as a blaster."
I find the activation stud and the blade springs into being. This one is blue-white. It pushes back slightly, as if it was the flame of a blowtorch. I swing it gently in the air, captivated by the changing drone of it, the scent of ozone. Ben continues, lowering himself to a seat. "An elegant weapon, for a more civilized age. For over a thousand generations the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire."
My father's lightsaber feels alive and eager in my hands and I'm not listening as closely as I should, but the way his voice drops makes me recall myself. I know so little about my father, and it's just been proven that what I thought I knew wasn't true. I close down the blade and sit besides Ben. "How did my father die?"
He looks stricken for a moment, rocks back and forth, looks away and back. (difficult truth? untruth?)
(See also)
We're in a white pourstone room. The windows are like caves in the thick walls, and it's so much brighter outside that nothing can be seen. The air is dry and warm and still. I have sand between my toes, in my hair, caught in the whorls of my ears, there's some between my lips and teeth, it's definitely in my suns-bleached farmer's clothes, and none of that is remarkable at all. (I'm so young that I still have two hands.)
I'm busy reconnecting the linkages holding the golden robot's arm to his body. The worn man - Ben - is opening a chest. "Your father wanted you to have this, when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn't allow it."
He pulls something out from the chest. "He feared you might follow old Obywon (Obee Won?) on some damnfool idealistic crusade, like your father did."
His voice is familiar. Didn't I hear it in the memory of speed?
"Sir, if you'll not be needing me I'll close down for a while," the golden robot - Threepio - tells me, and I tell him to go ahead, distractedly, as I stand and Ben shows me the hilt of a lightsaber. (It's not the one from my other memories, the one I have now.)
I've never seen this before. "What is it?"
"Your father's lightsaber. The weapon of a Jedi Knight." He prompts me to take it, and I do, noting that it seems so heavy for its size. (The balance isn't the same as the green one's) "Not as clumsy or random as a blaster."
I find the activation stud and the blade springs into being. This one is blue-white. It pushes back slightly, as if it was the flame of a blowtorch. I swing it gently in the air, captivated by the changing drone of it, the scent of ozone. Ben continues, lowering himself to a seat. "An elegant weapon, for a more civilized age. For over a thousand generations the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire."
My father's lightsaber feels alive and eager in my hands and I'm not listening as closely as I should, but the way his voice drops makes me recall myself. I know so little about my father, and it's just been proven that what I thought I knew wasn't true. I close down the blade and sit besides Ben. "How did my father die?"
He looks stricken for a moment, rocks back and forth, looks away and back. (difficult truth? untruth?)
(See also)
