Reincarnation, for all the cosmic wonder it implies, is a profoundly tedious affair. Even if some unknown, impossible miracle allows you to retain the entirety of your former consciousness, you are still condemned to the long, slow, and often frustrating process of growing and learning all over again as a child. Yet, in an even rarer twist of fate, this rebirth can occur a very long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.
My new name is Ban Bailo, although to my current mother, I am affectionately known as Bee Bee. In the two years since my abrupt arrival into this new existence, I have been an observant toddler, bearing witness to a glaring contradiction in the technology of this world, and by extension, this entire galaxy. It is simultaneously far more advanced than anything I knew in my previous life, yet it often presents itself with a cheap, almost simple, and clunky aesthetic. This paradox was an irritant that demanded a closer look.
By a giant, inexplicable stroke of luck, opportunity presented itself right to my doorstep. A harvest droid, one of the many autonomous machines tasked with surveying the vast fields for weeds and vermin, unexpectedly malfunctioned and crashed right next to where I was playing. The specific function of the droid was not the important factor; what mattered was its movement.
These machines floated. They possessed no visible propellers or thrusters for lift, they simply seemed to ignore gravity as a fundamental concept.
Before my mother whisked me away, I managed a brief, intense look into the damaged interior. What I saw was an astounding simplicity in the anti-gravity mechanism's core design. Only the integration of the power source into the system stumped my immediate comprehension. This brief exposure only amplified the technological dissonance I observed daily.
Life on the farm offered very little to occupy a mind that had lived a full, adult existence. The entertainment meant for children was utterly juvenile and failed to hold my attention. The 3D projection system that displayed daily news was impressive on one level it was a dynamic hologram but the actual image quality was low-definition and looked cheap. It absolutely baffled me that this civilization possessed true three-dimensional holography, yet apparently struggled with high-quality image projectors and optical collectors. It was an advanced society built upon oddly rudimentary parts.
Then, the answers arrived all at once, in a sudden and revelatory wave. A visiting man, clad in modest, earth-toned robes, came to our isolated community. He spoke with a quiet, compelling authority, persuading my family that I was special, uniquely gifted, and required specialized training elsewhere. In that instant, the pieces clicked into place, illuminating the kind of world and galaxy I was inhabiting. The strangely advanced yet clunky technology, the commonality of holograms and the almost ridiculously good luck that allowed a piece of advanced machinery to literally land in my lap all of it pointed to one powerful, unifying concept.
This was a galaxy permeated by the Force, populated by the Jedi, and, almost certainly, haunted by the Sith.
The transition to the Jedi's custody was swift. Whether it was achieved through quiet, persuasive appeals to my parent's hopes for my future, or perhaps some less than subtle influence or even a well placed bribe, the Jedi Order clearly wielded immense social pull and respect. Something as emotionally complex as taking a young child away was resolved with surprising efficiency.
As it turned out, I had been unintentionally and unconsciously using the Force in small, localized ways. These tiny ripples of psychic influence had propagated outward, acting as a beacon that led the Jedi recruiter directly to me. While the immense, mystical power of the Force itself greatly interested me it represented an entirely new realm of exploration and control it was not the only draw. The Jedi represented a guaranteed starting point, a place of immediate protection in a galaxy that I knew to be vast, complex, and filled with dangers I was not yet equipped to face.
Thus, I left with the recruiter.
A significant problem immediately presented itself: the date. In my original life, when observing the Star Wars timeline, key events were always classified in reference to the Battle of Yavin: ABY (After the Battle of Yavin) or BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin). This specific point in history served as the temporal anchor. The issue was that until the pivotal battle actually occurred, the local calendar system was entirely different and highly localized.
This made any planning for future, notable events like the Clone Wars, the rise of the Empire, or the eventual appearance of certain powerful individuals impossible to schedule or anticipate. I was essentially adrift in the current era.
I could, of course, simply wait for famous Jedi like Yoda or Mace Windu to make an appearance, which would offer a rough temporal fix, but until one of those well known faces materialized, I was as much in the dark as any native resident.
The various worlds and sectors utilized a confusing variety of dating conventions I had already identified at least three different major calendar standards, possibly more. It was a damn confusing and, without a fixed reference point, ultimately pointless chronological mess.
The prospect of traveling to new worlds, however, was genuinely exciting. Back in my previous life, the furthest extent of human exploration was the simple, grey surface of the Moon. Now, I was about to eclipse that achievement by thousands of light years.
This excitement, however, was somewhat dampened when I first saw the transport ship that would carry me through the void. It was an old Shuttle model, clearly stripped down, refitted, and refurbished countless times.
It had a clunky, repurposed aesthetic, looking more like a utilitarian, blocky vehicle that a child might have assembled out of repurposed construction toys. It was a utilitarian vessel that looked like a Lego made DeLorean.
I was not alone when I boarded. Besides the Jedi recruiter, there were three other children, all of them slightly older than me.
Each one was quietly sniffing, holding back tears of fear, confusion, and loss. For all of us, including myself, this was a new, great adventure, but for them, it was the abrupt end of their established family unit and the forceful embrace of a rigid, monumental Jedi institution. I was under no illusion that this whole transition was going to be a simple cakewalk.
The journey to Coruscant proved to be dull. Space is vast, and the sheer emptiness of it consumed hour after hour. Even the initial, awe inspiring sight of the Hyperspace jump the streaking of stars into a tunnel of light lost its attraction after watching it for hours on end. It was a phenomenon that was visually spectacular but mentally boring.
Only the entry into the Coruscant atmosphere finally broke the monotony of my dozing mind. The view was absolutely amazing: layer upon layer of towering buildings that seemed to stretch infinitely, punctuated by countless floating highways buzzing with speeder traffic, all nestled among the clouds. The level of technology required for the most mundane, constant, and chaotic daily events was truly inspiring.
I couldn't wait to finally get my hands on it, to study and to understand the mechanisms that made this unbelievable metropolis function. I had arrived at my new beginning.