The desire to survive
overcomes agony.
***
Slowly but surely, my consciousness cleared, and my thoughts gathered into a cluster, pulling a trail of memories behind them... An ordinary, unremarkable weekday. Evening, to be more precise — the streetlights had already come on. I went out into the street... Yes, that's right — to the store, to buy bread. It was cold, twenty degrees below zero, so I moved briskly. I walked along the sidewalk, not bothering anyone. I was thinking about something... important. I don't remember what! I didn't pay attention to the sound at first... some strange sound. And then — darkness.
I didn't even have time to be scared. Then some kind of multicolored glitches. Stars, planets, constellations... It was as if they were flying right under my feet. There was some kind of fog or smoke swirling around, and all this happened in complete silence. In short, I was clearly somewhere far away. At least it's not the light at the end of the tunnel.
At least all this incomprehensible nonsense is coming to an end. I hope I didn't lie in the snow for long and haven't frozen anything off. It's unlikely anyone would rush to help a stranger lying on the sidewalk, and to call an ambulance — you'd have to meet someone extraordinary. Yes, my consciousness is returning, and my hearing too. Yep, I can hear a hum, although it might just be ringing in my ears. No — it's some kind of shouting, getting louder, the clang of metal. "Is there some kind of construction going on nearby, or has someone decided to celebrate Tinsmith's Day on the ice?"
I moved my hand. Sand crunched between my fingers. The warm sun was shining overhead. A sickly, unfamiliar smell hit my nostrils.
What the hell is sand??? Everything has been paved over for a long time, and... it's winter — evening must have already fallen; it can't be this warm. Trying to open my eyes, I found that they were also covered with sand. Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes with my unyielding hand. It took a few seconds to finally come to my senses. I opened my left eye with difficulty, then closed it. I opened my right eye. The picture did not change. I closed the right eye and took a deep breath. My chest was pierced with pain. A cacophony of screams, gunshots, grinding, and explosions burst into my ears. Although the gunshots had a very familiar sound.
I opened my eyes.
"****!"
I wanted to say something unprintable, but the words stuck in my throat and my head was shot through with pain. What I saw was complete nonsense — something that couldn't be true by definition, yet was unquestionably happening in that moment. Nonsense that was painfully familiar. I shook my head and looked closely, convincing myself that nothing had changed. Only the picture became clearer. And I immediately realized I was in deep trouble. Just like in those books about "isekai." Because after that high-speed flight past glitches in the form of stars, constellations, and nebulae, reality looked very plausible. Even too plausible.
Geonosis, damn it! Petranaki Arena, damn it! Jedi, damn them! Droids, fuck them! Star Wars — damn the Force!
Here I am... By the way, I wonder if I'm in my own body or someone else's? Memory, help me out! I implore all the gods and the Force, just not C-3PO... or any other droid...
I didn't even have time to panic at the thought that I had no idea how to search my brain for someone else's memories when I suddenly realized that I somehow knew how to, um... call myself (?)... That is, I remembered two names, but one was completely unfamiliar and came accompanied by images of life in the Jedi Temple and the flight to this planet. Mikore Vikt??? Who else is that?
As soon as this thought flashed through my mind, the answer came again. So — a Jedi, twenty-six years old, human, Balance Corps. Images from the life of the former owner of the body flashed before my eyes. His mentor was some old guy named Nhon Arto. Nothing particularly remarkable; he only knew the first form of sword fighting, Shii-Cho, and he didn't particularly strive to develop his combat skills, preferring meditation. It was not surprising that he served in the Balance Corps after becoming a Knight — he had no desire to wander the backwaters of the galaxy as a diplomat. And naturally, like any Jedi, he didn't have a penny to his name. A fairly typical Jedi. The number of midi-chlorians in his blood was two thousand eight hundred and thirty-nine. He had traveled around the galaxy a bit with his teacher on diplomatic affairs, did not participate in any serious skirmishes, and about four years ago, he had become a Jedi Knight.
The strangest thing was that I took all these memories for granted — I just remembered! True, my head reacted to this with a nagging pain so unbearable that I wanted to open my skull and scratch my brain with my hand. It's hard to find epithets that could even begin to describe this. In general, those feelings.
Phew. Not the worst option. It could have been Skywalker. Brr, God forbid. To end up with that self-confident idiot... Although, in principle, I understand him and have nothing personal against him. After all, he's as cool as a cucumber. The chosen one and all that. The central figure of the main events of Star Wars.
Although Palpatine or Yoda would also be out of the ordinary, despite my deep respect for them. One is a great schemer, the other is too. I couldn't handle such roles, oh no... Again, I am a man and a human being. If I got into some kind of crocodile trap, I swear I would shoot myself right away — if I could. I might not even have the strength to do it. Or, on the contrary, I might shoot myself forty times.
Actually, my name is William Broun; I am twenty-four years old, a student of the history department, and my interests include books — in particular, I was fascinated by Star Wars, which had something to appreciate and weigh in historical terms. I didn't make many friends because of my character. I never humiliated myself in front of anyone and often said what I thought about people. Someone once told me I was too old-fashioned, but I doubt they meant it seriously.
Although... now my past life is not very important. I have to get used to my new name. God forbid I get caught — they'll roll me into some kind of hospital. And then they'll write it off as a wound or a concussion, and that will be the end of me.
***
How painful it is! Concentrating, I called on all my body's memory for help and tried to cut off the pain, to distance myself from it. It became more bearable, but not by much. There was no question of healing the wound. But the meditations of the body's former owner did bring some benefit. I was able to move without causing myself unbearable agony. Feeling my chest, I found a hole left by a blaster shot. My Jedi robe was hopelessly ruined.
'Damn it! Why the hell am I lying here? There's a battle going on, and no one is going to wait while I lie here and ponder! I have to do something, or some crappy droid is going to shoot me dead right here. I don't really want to die a second time.'
***
Meanwhile, the situation was getting worse. The droids had pushed the Jedi off the stands, and now they were fighting in the arena. Jango Fett had already "roasted" Master Windu with a flamethrower, and he had jumped down.
B-1s and B-2s were dying by the dozens and hundreds, but the machines knew no fear, and new rows of them kept entering the arena. When they entered, they ran quite briskly — much faster than in the movie. The individual skills of the Jedi were no match for the coordinated actions of the machines. Whatever anyone says about the weakness of the B-1 processors, they clearly don't have Pentium 4s, but something more serious. Well, the B-2s performed even better — they tried not to get close to the Jedi, instead firing from paired wrist blasters, whose shots were the most difficult to deflect.
The Jedi were simply overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Here and there, another swordsman would fall, having deflected ten shots but failing to deflect the eleventh. The Geonosian scoundrels... or were they Geonosians? It doesn't matter — anyway, these flying insectoids here and there with their sonic cannons. A terrible weapon, despite its short range.
And now I understand why Yoda's face was contorted at the end of Revenge of the Sith — I felt the death of the Jedi like an itch, goosebumps on my skin. I felt the Force itself as a kind of formation in my body, and at the same time, as if it were spread around me. It's simply indescribable.
Damn it! It's time to save my own skin. There are only a hundred Jedi left! I need to hold out a little longer, and then the cavalry will arrive. There was no question of saving anyone. I'm far from being a scoundrel, but I'm no hero either. What can I do in this situation?
Almost nothing. If masters like Mace Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi are retreating, the droids will step over me and not even notice. That's how it is. All that's left is to try to survive.
My new body was responding to me more and more effectively, and the circumstances were prompting me to take decisive action.