People who have their own grief,
know how to comfort others.
***
The door behind me closed quietly, and I was finally able to breathe out. Only now did it trulybecome clear that everything was behind me. The cabin was bright, clean, and unexpectedly… cozy, which finally convinced me of that thought. Ieven felt a little ashamed to come here lookinglike this; during my last days on the planet, I hadn't had time to clean my armor, let alone sleep…
I took off my helmet, gratefully breathing in theship's atmosphere — it seemed so… fresh and clean. It was a deceptive feeling, but still… Reflexively, I turned the helmet I was still holding in my hands. My eyes met the vizor, which stared back at me unkindly. A symphony of the recent battle echoed in my head: explosions, blaster bolts screaming by, the screech of metal, the cries of the wounded and the shouts of rage… In the reflection, flashes blazed, and vague silhouettesflickered, locked in hand-to-hand combat… The helmet seemed imbued with all that pain andtorment, serving as a reminder… Although, of course, it was complete nonsense — most likely it was all happening only in my head, but I couldn't shake those illusions. The sensations enveloped me, gnawed at me, refusing to let go. I threw the helmet aside in disgust, but the feeling didn't fade, and the sounds didn't disappear.
I began tearing off my armor in a rage. It took about five minutes — some of the fasteners were damaged or simply jammed with dirt. It seemedthe armor designers hadn't expected their "product" to be used in such conditions… And thearmor's appearance was disappointing: the paint peeling or worn in places, chips and melted spots clearly visible. Traces of war…
Moving away from the pile of plates and pieces, I pulled off my underarmor. It became much easier to breathe, but the feeling of "dirt" didn't go away. So — where was the shower? Spotting the room I needed — barely two square meters — Ipractically flew into it, frantically searching for the activation panel. Oh, damn, how long had it been since I'd had a proper wash… Standing under the elastic jets of warm water, I soaked in it, cleansing myself both externally and internally.
How long had I been here? I mean, in this world, in this galaxy? What did they call it there — the"Skyriver"? In my opinion, that name was definitely better than "Milky Way"… So how long? A simplecalculation revealed it had been only four months, three weeks, and five days. But it felt as if at least a year had passed — so much had happened in that time. Good and bad, interesting and sad… Looking back, I suddenly realized how naive I had been then.
Yes, at first it all seemed — my transmigration and mastery of the Force — like something fascinating. My mind painted scenes from the movies, something heroic, or at least heroic-ish. Many things seemed insignificant, and problemsseemed easily solvable. I involuntarily marveled at lightsabers and blasters, at starships and spaceflight, at the whole multifaceted atmosphere of this universe. However… reality turned out tobe different from what I expected.
The world wasn't a movie at all; the actors turned out to be very much alive… intelligent, and even the "extras" acquired individual traits. The pros were overshadowed by the cons, and cardboard sets were replaced with a three-dimensionalworld. A lightsaber? Well, yes, it's a cool thing you can use to slash your enemies in a dramatic way. A blaster!… damn it, it makes a funny beep-beep sound? Yes, you can't slash enemies with it in a flashy way, but you can hit them from a safedistance. Starships? There are tons of them here, for every taste and color. The Force? Yes, it letsyou do incredible things, but it also brings even more difficulties…
If I had been the person I am now on that day on Geonosis… I might have acted differently. Back then, I didn't think about what it meant to becomea general. In my mind, a general was someonesitting in a headquarters, at a huge table, with a large map behind him. Sometimes he would rise and approach it to move colorful flags with an intelligent look on his face, or draw a couple of bright arrows on it. And war seemed like some kind of simulator where virtual enemies foughteach other…
But everything turned out to be… morecomplicated. Even if I had been a simple person, not gifted with the Force, it would have been much easier. Admirals don't send others into battle — admirals lead others into battle. Thesame applied to the Jedi… they don't send, they lead clones. And you can't hide behind papers and numbers showing the situation at the front and the casualty counts. We feel all of it…
I don't know how long I would have stood under the shower if it hadn't turned itself off: the automatic system reported that the water quotahad been exceeded.
Okay, enough soaking. After drying myself with a towel, I returned to my cabin. I didn't feel like putting my armor back on, so I had to look for my backpack. I found it next to the bed, onto which I dumped the modest contents of the bag. And thechoice is not great. A Jedi robe, another one, and several sets of standard Jedi clothing. Afterthinking for a moment, I chose the option without a shirt, but with a sleeveless vest. My body craved freshness and air, and I had no desire to wrap myself up completely. If necessary, I could always throw on a Jedi cloak. It was a sturdy and warm garment.
Meanwhile, my thoughts continued to flow slowly under my skull, shifting to other, no less pressingmatters. Let's say the first item on my "plan" — survive — had been accomplished, albeit with some difficulty. But what next… What should I do now?
And then I realized what I actually needed to do… urgently find the dining hall and eat a propermeal. My body was desperately craving calories. Besides, it's always easier to think on a full stomach.
Throwing the rest of my belongings back into my bag, I stepped into the corridor. Luckily, the ships here were more or less standardized, and vessels of the same series were practically identical twins, so I didn't have to learn the layout all over again. Right, now left… and into the turbolift…
***
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