Chapter 4 pain
Preston dropped out of hyperspace at the first set of coordinates provided by Fixit. He was surprised by the emptiness, the vastness of it all. He wasn’t sure about the why. The place seemed fairly insignificant. Was that point? Was this a place of perspective? It took effort to convince his brain that the barrenness was an illusion, that the scattering of stars should not be the measure for the Universe. Mathematically speaking, it would only take 103 folds of a sheet a paper that was 1 10th of a millimeter thick to span the length of the entire universe. (Folding a paper in half more than doubled its thickness, and each consecutive fold raised the value exponentially, so that by ten folds one had traveled just over a kilometer, 30 folds 100 kilometers high, and by 80 you were almost as thick as the galaxy was wide.) Working with atoms, as he had in the construction of his light saber crystals, had taught him that the stuff around him, the stuff that seemed most solid, even the material comprising his own body, was mostly empty space. If the proton from a hydrogen atom was the size of an apple, the electron would be fifty kilometers away. The electron would be beyond eyesight. Of course, the analogy was limited. There was no size that one could elevate the proton to in which the electron would become visible, as it had zero dimensions. Zero times anything was still zero. That didn’t mean it didn’t exist, it just meant that the electron, for all practical purposes, was energy. The proton itself was made up of even smaller bits of energy, and the void between these was just as great, if not greater, as the distance between the proton and electron. And here he was, in the void between stars. Worrying about the emptiness of all things. Emptiness was an inherent part of the system.
In some ways, there was little difference between this material plane and the astral plane, the medium he most often traveled when he left his body during meditations. One striking difference was that once he was outside his body, he found the physical plane was illuminated regardless of time a day, very similar to how a hologram is illuminated. Yoda’s voice echoed, beings of light we are, but he also knew this to be true in another sense. All visible matter emitted light, most of it in the infrared range. Living matter also emitted bio-photons. The experience of seeing lights when the eye was closed, or when one applied pressure to the eys, was known as phosphene, which wasn’t an illusion, but actually the atoms and cells emitting sufficient light to trigger a cone or a rod. This was not to be mistaken for seeing auras or rays, and those who had experienced auras or rays knew the distinction the same way a person could tell the difference between day and night. As he studied the blackness, he wondered if the occasional sparkle was from a single photon from a distant star, a phosphene, a ray, a random particle/ annihilation event bubling up from the space/time soup, a floater in his eyes, debris reflecting ship lights back, or his imagination. Did it matter? Should he seek a higher perspective to determine the source of the ‘noise’ or just be content with the experience?
Another differenteration between sights on the Astral plane compared to the physical plane was that he could see in all directions at once or focus his awareness in one direction as if looking through a tunnel, or he could even zoom in or out to alter his focus. The astral world itself tended to be very much like the material world, in terms of reflecting above what was below, only it was much more idyllic than a complimentary mirror. There was an emptiness separating the two planes, perhaps even more apparently empty than this space between stars. Many people reported it as a dark space, or a tunnel, and if one moved towards the light, you found yourself emerging into the higher reality. Again, maybe that was why Fixit wanted him to pause here. He had gone in a complete circle.
“In darkness, you were wonderfully made,” a voice in his head, not quite a memory but not loud enough to identify who had spoken. He forced himself to stop wondering about the practicality of this stop and chose instead to meditate for a moment, clearing his mind. ‘Is there something to be attained in darkness?’ was his primary question. He would wait for an answer, or boredom, before pushing on.
“Remember, darkness is not necessarily evil. Be aware of your beliefs, the context of your words, as they will change the result of your questions. It is sufficient to ask for truth and understanding.” It sounded like Fixit, but here in the quiet, he was willing to pass it off as a trick of his mind. There was only the hum of the electronics and the slight stirring of air as it circulated through the packs that made the emptiness bearable.
“Is this a memory, a hallucination, or a real time auditory experience?”
“If it’s useful, does it matter?”
“I suppose not,” Preston agreed, laughing. That sounded like Fixit.
“Forgive my impatience, Master, but how is this dark place useful? What is my lesson?”
“Darkness is a rite of passage, a necessary experience,” Fixit said.
“You were conceived in darkness. You were made, developed, grown, in darkness. You passed through darkness and into light. Even the Universe is said to have come from darkness. Light was secondary. It is written by philosopher that passing into the Force upon death is like moving from a darkness, a dream, into Light. Don’t see with your eyes, or even your brain. See with your heart. Because light is also an illusion. You only need close your eyes to know you exist first and primarily in the dark.”
Preston frowned. Damn koans. In truth, this space wasn’t really dark, it was just empty. If he shined a light out in any direction, there was light there, just nothing to reflect it back. That thought made the starlight more prominent. From his perspective, there is only space/time, and the light is merely ripples in a medium. The opposite was equally true, there was no darkness. All of space time was filled with light of varying wavelengths. With deep infrared, the sky was red not black. He was floating in light. He wasn’t alone. He was the focal point of all the lights in the night sky. He was center stage. He felt at home.
“Brace yourself,” it was Fixit voice and there was no doubting that this was a solid auditory event. It was more solid, more real than the recent dialogue, so much so that he grabbed the controls of the Fighter.
The pain was indescribable. Both hands let go of the controls and moved to his chest, covering his heart as if to prevent his heart from leaving his chest. Every cell in his body felt as if it had been pricked. He closed his eyes and felt himself separate from his body. He saw his body weeping, from outside the fighter looking in. While his body wept, his spirit was comforted. He was immersed in an indigo light.
“Be at peace,” was a voice, but not a voice. He was sure it was female. He was also sure it was in his head and not an auditory experience. Telepathy.
“Do I know you?” Preston asked.
“What does your heart tell you?” the voice asked. A question as an answer to a question suggested it was quite likely one of the Jedi Masters that frequently counseled him during his training. Did that mean training wasn’t over, or that his passage allowed him life time access? Closing his eyes when he wasn’t in his body was more a metaphor than an actual practice. He had habitualized himself into believing he was a body, not radiant energy. But the practice of eyes closing was also a way of getting at information inside his head.
“Goddess Ashia,” Preston asked?
“It is time we dropped titles,” Ashia said.
“You are no longer a Padawan.”
“Why can’t I see you?”
“Why do you think?” Ashia instructed, chuckling.
Preston ‘opened’ his eyes. He was no longer floating in indigo, but was on a mountain top. The top of the mountain had been razed; as if a giant lightsaber had cut the top off, leaving a glassy surface. He thought of home and Fixit. A marble platform, supported by caryatids, gave rise to a small fountain. The caryatids supported the roof with their heads, leaving their hands free to hold items or strike dance posses. One held a lightsaber, another held a telescope and a third held a stethoscope, something he seemed to intuit as it would require him to walk around to actually see the third. His eyes lingered on the caryatid closest to him, noting the toga seemed to be affected by wind, and that the marble legs seemed lively enough that she might just step down and be free. It stirred his libido and forced him to look away. Ashia sat down at the fountain, filled a glass with water, and asked him to sit by her, to drink.
To say Ashia was beautiful was an understatement. She was absolutely radiant, with a golden light that surrounded her. The aura didn’t surprise him, as all the past Master Jedi’s he had encountered had their own aura. What surprised him was that it was tangible and intense and he could feel it against his skin the same way he felt the sun on a cold, windless day. She had wings, such as depicted with angels, flowing blond hair, and a tall, thin frame that seemed fragile, and yet she was probably sturdier than his own flesh and blood body.
Preston approached and kneeled.
“Always with the rituals,” Ashia smiled.
“I am no more a goddess, than a doctor is a god compared to a kindergartener. Though you have not officially earned the title Jedi, you are no longer a Padawan, and I’m no longer your Master.”
“You’re a Diathim!” Preston said.
“Why am I only now seeing this?”
“Partly, because you have always been distracted by my beauty,” Ashia said. She laughed at his reaction.
“I’m a natural telepath, you didn’t think you could hide that, did you? Be not ashamed. It is normal. It is flattering. Your desires have never come with control or force, only curiosity and a sense of mutual affection and playfulness.”
“You said partly, which means there is another reason I can see you for who you are?” Preston said, wanting to get away from the subject of his affection for her.
“Fixit has raised you well,” Ashia said, amused by both the question and his sidestepping.
“The biggest factor is your present sorrow, your grieving over the life on your home moon. Pain can be a clarifying force. Do not fear it. And do not fear death, even on a large scale. There is no death. There is only transition.”
“Why does it hurt so much? Not just emotionally, but physically?” Preston asked. He wanted her to hold him, the way a mother would a child, but at the same time, because she had called him out on his own fantasies regarding her, he felt it necessary to maintain a respectable distance.
“It’s just data,” Ashia said.
“If you break your arm, your cells tell your brain it hurts. It is transmitted directly through your nervous system, but it is also transmitted electrically into the environment. It is transmitted spiritually into the void, into the Force. You are sensitive; your boundaries are more open to the exchange of information than most people. Even without the Force, if you saw a broken limb, you would feel it. But because you are Force sensitive, if you do not focus, you can be overwhelm by the pain of others. Remember, pain is not real, it is only information. The life on the moon that was your home was destroyed and all of that information was transmitted into the void, simultaneously, instantly. Ripples in a pond. A broken arm is a grain of sand tossed onto the surface of a still pond. The death of one moon full of life is a star thrown onto the surface of a still pond.”
“Okay, that explains the pain, but not the grieving,” Preston said.
“I know that there is more to existence than physical reality and yet I am profoundly sad.”
“I would worry if you weren’t,” Ashia said.
“Part of it is an incorrect belief, hidden in your psyche. Find it, change it, and you will deal with grief easier. Part of it is you don’t want creatures to suffer, even those on this plane. Which is also an incorrect belief.”
“How can it be incorrect? You say you would worry if I didn’t have compassion, but then suggest it is wrong to hold compassion?” Preston asked.
“We value freedom,” Ashia said, again patting the fountain next to her, inviting him to sit.
“Suffering, pain, these are highly subjective positions. To heal someone without their permission, to stop their pain or suffering, robs them of their freedom to experience what they need to experience to grow. There are no coincidences in life, only Force interaction, only lessons to be learned, only treasures to be found. Come, sit, drink.”
Preston took a step forward.
“Am I allowed to refuse?” Ashia laughed.
“It is a request. I would like to comfort you.”
“What if I don’t want to be comforted? What if I wanted to rage against the senselessness of it all,” Preston asked.
“Proceed. Do as you feel you must. And when you finish raging, what is- still is, and I am still here, offering you water to drink,” Ashia said.
One of the most prominent lessons Ashia had taught him was surrender. Letting go. It was the same lesson plan that Fixit had also offered repeatedly. Preston closed the distance and sat next to Ashia, Goddess of Light, birth, death, and rebirth. She held the glass out to him, the left palm of her hand on the bottom of the glass, and the right hand’s fingers holding the top. Preston reached for it, but she told him no, withdrawing the cup. He dropped both of his hands, one of them landing on her exposed knee. He blushed, pulling his arms to his chest, diverting his eyes. She brought the cup to his mouth and poured, quenching his thirst in a series of tiny sips over time. There had always been a sensual quality to his visits here, but since he had realized the name of her species, it was as if the volume had been turned up on this energy.
Ashia sat the glass down, uncrossed his arms drew his arms around her, and then embraced him. She put her arms around him first, then her wings, and then she infused him with an out pouring of love, a green light flooding into him from her heart. Preston tightened his embrace, his arms going to her lower back due to the wings, after a moment of awkward fumbling. He was aware of the warmth of her breast against his cheeks. The influx of love was so overwhelming that the physical urges that accompanied being touched by her seemed diminished. He had the sensation of being struck by lightning and then, again, he was free of himself. The same way he had experienced leaving his body, he was now leaving himself again, which didn’t make sense, because he had believed the astral body, or spirit body, was the only true form, but now, here, he was in another form that transcended the lower. He transcended thought, and for a brief second, he was one with everything in the Universe. The love was like the warmth of the embrace of a mother to newborn, or like the light of a star on a planet in the in the ‘goldilock’ zone. The galaxy was merely a sand mandala stirred by a finger. Ashia and he merged, the briefest of moments that seemed to go on for a millennia, an urgent escalation of energies that ended with both of them surrendering to each other. Then, everything that was light went dark and everything that was dark became light. It was as if he were examining a photo of the Universe, only instead of the final product he was viewing the negative. Darkness was light! Matter, visible light, was a distraction. There was so much more to know and understand than he had ever imagined. Pure ecstasy caused him to pass out. When he awoke, he was back in his body. The mystical experience faded like a dream. He was aware that something significant having happened, but the urgency of a beeping droid drew him to full consciousness. His body shivered.
“Yes, Findit, I’m okay,” Preston said. He longed to be back in Ashia’s embrace. Findit whistled.
“I am sorry I worried you,” Preston said, setting in the next set of coordinates for a hyperspace jump.
Findit whistled excitedly.
“Really? What could you have possibly found out here?” Preston asked.
Findit whistled. Preston, more out of courtesy than curiosity, amused the robot by rotating the Fighter around. The size of the derelict was impressive.
“Wow,” Preston said.
Findit whistled.
“Yes, that’s a really nice find, but not very practical,” Preston said. More whistling.
“We would need a crew to fly that,” Preston said. More protests.
“I’m sure there are lots of nice things on board, but we’re already cramped on space,” Preston said.
The droid became hysterical, like a child throwing a tantrum.
“I know you’re programmed to collect stuff, but really, you’re over reaching here.” The droid surrendered, with a final request.
“Alright, we will come back and look around. Time permitting,” Preston said. The droid seemed appeased. They jumped back into hyperspace.
♫♪►
“Welcome to Axila space, please ident,” came space traffic control.
“Um, yeah, I’m sorry, my transponder codes are expired,” Preston lied, heeding Fixit’s warning of broadcasting the ship’s ID.
“I’m sorry, but without proper identification, you won’t be allowed to approach the planet,” came space traffic control.
“Is there an agency or protocol for getting around these criteria?” Preston asked.
“You could try contacting customs directly, but I doubt you will fare any better with them without identification,” space traffic control said.
“Maintain your present solar orbital vector. Good day, sir.”
“Wait,” Preston tried, but the channel was obviously blocked.
“How do I contact customs?” He sighed.
Findit hummed.
“What network?” Preston asked.
Findit whistled a response and then brought up the information on his screen. A frequency to contact customs was highlighted.
“Oh, a computer network,” Preston said, dialing in the frequency. The display indicated the connection was green.
“Hello, customs?”
“Please state your full name.”
“Preston.”
“Preston what?”
“Just Preston.”
“Just Preston is your full name?” Preston laughed.
“No, but that’s funny.”
“Sir, it a misdemeanor offense to waste my time.”
“My name is Preston.”
“No Sir name?”
“Do I require one?”
An audible sigh came from the customs agent.
“Good day, Sir.”
Preston tried calling back, but his signal was bounced. He felt a stirring of frustration. Findit helped to alleviate the situation by highlighting an alternate contact number. It was corporate affiliate for a major biological firm dealing with exotic creatures.
“Good thinking, Findit,” Preston said, dialing the frequency.
“This is Gen-encoders Affiliates, Wosha speaking, may I help you?”
“I have some specimens I would like to sell. Any chance you would be interested?” Preston asked.
“Please transmit your identification codes,” Wosha said.
“My name is Preston,” Preston said.
“Sir, I need your identification codes, including your bank routing numbers, credit history, and permits for transporting biological substances,” Wosha said.
“I don’t have any of these things,” Preston said.
“I’m sorry, sir, I really can’t help you,” Wosha said. She hung up.
“What the hell?” Preston asked.
CU2 gave a whistle of lament. Preston sighed. He started to look for another number, but when he went to dial in a new frequency, he found Gen-Enc hadn’t locked their frequencies. He tried the number again. Wosha came back on line.
“Look, before you hang up on me, would you at least consider looking at my inventory, and perhaps running it up to someone who might find a way around the established protocols?” Preston asked.
“Are you asking me to perform an illegal act?”
“I would not ask you to do anything other than look over my inventory and tell me if I have something that might pique your curiosity,” Preston said, transmitting a partial inventory list, which included highly detailed chemical compositions.
“Hold, please,” Wosha said. She waited literally a whole of two seconds before coming back with: “I’m sorry, Sir, I really can’t help you. Good…”
“Wait,” Preston pleaded.
“Sir?”
“You didn’t show it to anyone, did you?”
“No, sir,” she said.
“What if I shared a commission with you?” Preston asked.
“Sir, I must warn you that this conversation is being recorded.”
“Have I asked you to do anything that is illegal?”
“No, Sir,” she said.
“I’m just saying this would be a legal contract.”
“Four percent?”
“Twelve,” Wosha countered.
“Six,” Preston said.
“Stand by,” Wosha said.
Standing by became five minutes, ten minutes, and then Preston had to go into meditation mode to rid himself of his anxiety. An hour later, he decided to stretch out and sleep. Completely relaxed after the meditation, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink towards sleep.
“You must find a Jedi to complete your training…”
The voice registered as an auditory event, so loud and so close, he nearly sat up.
“Who are you?” he asked. He was too alert to be dreaming.
“We’ve spoken before. Have you forgotten my voice? Focus.”
Preston focus, picturing himself on an open field. It was one of many setting he often imagined himself in when he needed a change of terrain. A man wearing Jedi robes appeared. His aura was purple. He smiled and bowed ever so slightly.
“You’ve come a long way,” the Master said.
“Master Windu?” Preston asked.
“So, you do remember me?”
“I invited you to be on my esoteric council of elders, but I don’t remember you responding to my request,” Preston said.
“Do you know how many Padawans desire to speak with me?” Windu asked.
“The number should be irrelevant since there are no temporal or spatial limitations once you’re completely one with the Force,” Preston said. He frowned.
“I am sorry, Master. I’m not unhappy by your presence, just surprised. I created that list of people I wanted dream encounters with a long time ago. I figured you just weren’t interested.”
“Your dream council, as you refer to it, is much bigger than you imagine, and we have all dedicated ourselves to assisting you in your growth, in very subtle ways,” Windu said.
“This is not subtle,” Preston said.
“It is not. We want you to seek training.”
“You know I desire to learn, but not sure I want to be a Jedi,” Preston said.
“You’ve learn too much not to become a Jedi,” Windu said.
“Everywhere Jedi’s go, trouble seems to follow,” Preston said.
“I intend to have a quiet life.”
“Your life will be far from quiet if you refuse to follow the Jedi path. We are afraid that you will fall to the Dark side,” Windu said.
“I’m really interested in that metaphor, falling,” Preston said.
“We’re all falling. Falling around a planet or a star or the galaxy. All falling towards infinity, at ever increasing rates of speed. And if there is no universal up or down, but only reference points like Galactic North, falling just fails to adequately represent directional vectors.”
“Yoda said you were a pain in the ass,” Windu said.
“Well, he is old school. Children should be seen and not heard, with Padawans being even quieter than that,” Preston said.
“But back to the metaphor of falling. I only just mentioned the physical reference of falling, so we really should discuss the esoteric value of how to fall away from Infinity. Whether it’s God, or the Force, if its value is infinite, you really can’t be outside of that.”
“That’s enough,” Windu said.
“I want you seek out a Jedi by the name of Yeno. You are young, naïve, and Force strong. Yeno will supervise you, finalize your training. We have consensus.”
“Really?” Preston asked.
Windu raised his hands as if to suggest ‘look for yourself.’ Preston looked around. There were five additional Jedi, standing around him in a circle. Yoda removed his hood and became more visible, but the others remained obscured behind their veil of secrecy. The whole scene changed, the Jedi gone, and he became unconscious as the dream took on a life of its own. The dream was playful and bizarre, but not so bizarre that he became conscious that he was dreaming. Three hours and ten minutes later, he woke and stretched. If this fighter hadn’t been modified, stretching full out would have been impossible. He made himself comfortable, found some water, ate the last of a fruit that would no longer be found, and was just wiping his hands when Wosha contacted him.
“Hello, Preston? I have Nolasco on the line.”
“Umm, hello, Wosha. Please put hims through,” delighted to be speaking with someone again.
“Preston,” Nolasco said.
“Item A14 in your inventory, could you transmit the entire DNA sequence.”
“Umm, no,” Preston said.
“Don’t you want to exchange greetings?”
“Sorry, just trying to save time,” Nolasco said.
“That’s reasonable,” Preston agreed.
“In the interest of saving time, I would like a confirmed deal before any further exchange.”
“Nice. Look here, son, I have no way of knowing whether or not you have made commercial contracts with any other vendors,” Nolasco said.
“You have my word,” Preston said.
“I’ve known too many unlicensed business men to take you at your word,” Nolasco said.
“I would need to have some greater security than that. How do I know that once I patent these specimens you’re selling that you don’t sell the original address and another business man goes and collects more samples?”
“I would be willing to provide the originating coordinates,” Preston said.
“And, I believe you can confirm that a supernova wiped out all the indigenous species from where I gathered the samples. These containers are all that’s left.”
“I could certainly verify a supernova, but that wouldn’t be a hundred percent guarantee that what you are offering comes from a sterilized area,” Nolasco said.
“Give me one sample from your collection so I can determine the authenticity of your offer by ensuring there are no comparable genetic samples in the market database.”
“I will agree to this, if you will arrange for me to land at your facility. I’m having a little difficulty getting through customs,” Preston said.
“Not having identification can be problematic on a planet with this population density,” Nolasco said.
“You’re right. I suppose I should go to Dathomir,” Preston said, wondering why he pulled that out of random, as opposed to any other name. He forced himself to focus on the here and now.
“I bet they have fewer restrictions...”
“Now, hang on there. I said problematic, not impossible,” Nolasco said.
“Give me an hour?”
Preston agreed and allowed his mind to day dream. Findit sang a repetitious tune, the equivalent of twiddling thumbs. Preston used the Force to mute the speaker. An hour passed, and Nolasco contacted him personally offering a preliminary deal, then he transferred the call to Space Traffic Control.
“We’ve plotted your course for planetary approach,” came the agent.
“Please do not vary from your flight plan. You may leave your long range module in the specified orbit. Once you’ve detached, contact planetary traffic control at 991.5. Good day, Preston 1.”
“Thank you,” Preston said.
“Preston, you still there?” It was Nolasco, his line still open.
“Yes, Nolasco.”
“Notify me once you’re in orbit. I’ll arrange a flight drone to fetch your cargo containers to the surface. You can follow them down to our facility, if you like.”
“Nolasco, I’m going to trust that you’re not about to rip me off. I think there is enough profit here for both of us, and I don’t require much,” Preston said.
“You trust me?” the voice sonded surprised.
“I’m not worried,” Preston said.
“See you planet side.”
♫♪►
Bio-Enc had their own private space port in the center of a plateau of building tops. Not too far from the spaceport was the terminal of a massive transit system, including super conducting rails and aviation. Preston set the fighter down easily as if he had done it a million times and climbed out the lower hatch. He was aware that several people were staring at his choice of vehicles, but he didn’t feel threatened. They were merely curious. Preston touched his ship and said, “thank you, ship,” out loud. He then thanked the Force. There were many things to be grateful for. The pleasantness of a breeze