People around here call me Jedi. I call myself Zee.
It’s hard not to correct them, you know. I don’t really feel like a Jedi. I feel like I’m trapped. Like I’m me, but not. I tell them what they want to hear, and not what I actually think. I’ve gotten really good at that, because that’s what I’m supposed to be. Humble. Demure. There is no emotion, there is peace…
Oh, what the hell. Nobody’s going to see this recording anyway. And if they tuck it away in a holocron for some poor Padawan to see after I’m dead, well, maybe it’ll be good for them. Maybe they’ll understand why I feel this way. All this potential and not a damn thing to do with it except run around and fetch this, that, and the other.
They’ve got me holed up in a flat on the Senate Plaza. All expenses paid. They even threw in the rumbling and whirring and incessant beeping of the air traffic zooming by my window at all hours of the day and night. Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess. It’s definitely a different life than what I’m used to. People see the Lightsaber and they either want to kiss my ass or avoid me completely.
I think I’d probably prefer the latter, though I can see how the Sith get off on it. It does make you feel powerful for a few seconds. Until you realize they just want to use you like everyone else.
Don’t get me wrong. What I’m doing is important. When Master Yuon got sick I figured that was it for me. She was the only one who ever stuck up for me in that stuffy Council room. I don’t know why she believes in me, but she does. Now she’s losing her mind, and somehow everyone thought it would be a good idea for me to save her. Not a Jedi Master, but a newly-appointed Jedi who didn’t spend nearly enough time as a Padawan.
No pressure or anything.
I do have someone to help me. Or something. I don’t know. Master Yuon explained it, but I still don’t know what the hell it actually is. A Tran… something. Honestly it just looks like a giant lizard. Like if a rill started eating everybody in a ten mile radius.
He speaks in his own language that I only half understand. And even when I get the translation, I don’t know what he actually means. He likes hunting. And killing. And honor. Sounds like he’d be easy to figure out, but he pretty much hates every word that comes out of my mouth, whether I’m trying to be a good, proper Jedi or whether I slip up and just be myself.
He didn’t say a word to the tenth incompetent local today who lost their datapad in gang territory and begged me to retrieve it. I wonder how he’d feel if I told them to just fuck right off.
When he’s not stepping on me or getting in my way or staring at me stupidly while I kill something by myself, he’s asking me what it’s like to be a Jedi. What it’s like to see the things Jedi see; to be bound to the Force and everything in it.
I tell him it’s a lot to take in.
The truth is I don’t have a clue. I don’t see the things the other Jedi see, apparently. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m not a Master, or because I just really don’t belong here. Like I said. All the potential and the flashy powers.
But I don’t feel like any more a Jedi than the lizard.