Star Wars: New Age

Chapter 11

The Kinetic Chamber

A new routine had formed in the silent heart of the ancient ship. Kael spent his time glued to his console, attempting to decipher the ship's alien architecture. Zana methodically cataloged their supplies and mapped the sections of the ship they had access to, her mind constantly working on strategy and logistics. And Jax… Jax waited.

The summons came, as he knew it would, not as a sound, but as a gentle pull in his mind from the Warden, an invitation to a previously sealed corridor off the main bridge. Zana and Kael noticed his change in focus immediately and followed, their curiosity and self-interest now making them permanent observers of his progress.

The corridor led to a single, massive door that slid open at their approach. The room within was vast, spherical, and completely empty. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of the same seamless, dark metal, featureless and absolute.

[THIS IS THE KINETIC TRAINING CHAMBER,] the Warden's thought resonated in Jax's mind. [A PLACE TO SHAPE THE BODY AND THE WILL.]

As they stepped inside, the door slid shut, and the room was plunged into darkness. A moment later, a soft, ambient light filled the space, and a panel in the center of the floor hissed open. A smooth, metallic sphere, the size of his fist, levitated silently from the opening, hovering at chest height.

The Warden's instruction was not a command, but a philosophical principle. [THE FORCE IS NOT ONLY TO BE FELT, BUT TO BE SHAPED. IT IS A SHIELD. A LEVER. A LANCE. WHAT YOU PERCEIVE, YOU CAN INFLUENCE.] It directed his attention to the sphere. [DO NOT LIFT IT WITH AN UNSEEN HAND. FEEL ITS EXISTENCE. KNOW ITS PLACE IN SPACE. THEN, WILL ITS PLACE TO BE… ELSEWHERE.]

Jax took a deep breath. Telekinesis. He focused on the sphere, reaching out with the Force. He tried to mentally grab it and push it. The sphere wobbled, a low hum emanating from it, but it didn't move. He gritted his teeth, straining with the effort. It was like trying to push a mountain with a thought.

He let out a frustrated sigh, remembering his lesson with the ship's systems. He couldn't force it. He had to guide it.

He relaxed his mind, simply feeling the sphere's presence in the Force—its weight, its density, its perfect stillness. He didn't try to push it. He envisioned the spot a meter to his left, and then he simply willed the sphere to be there instead of where it was.

The sphere tilted, then slowly, shakily, it slid through the air, fighting against its own inertia. It moved with a clumsy, halting motion before settling in its new spot with a soft click as its internal stabilizer re-engaged. It was ungainly and exhausting, but it was a victory. He had moved it.

Before he could celebrate, the Warden presented the next lesson. A small, disc-shaped training drone detached from a hidden alcove in the wall and zipped into the air. It fired a slow-moving pellet of concentrated, golden energy directly at him.

[DO NOT STOP IT,] the Warden instructed. [CREATE A BARRIER. WILL THE CURRENT TO BECOME A WALL BETWEEN YOU AND IT.]

Jax threw up his hand instinctively. The pellet struck him in the shoulder, not burning, but delivering a powerful, stinging jolt that felt like a massive static shock, knocking him off balance. The realism of the pain was staggering.

The drone fired again. This time, Jax was ready. As the pellet flew towards him, he focused his will in front of his outstretched palm, imagining a solid sheet of energy. A faint, shimmering distortion, like heat haze, appeared in the air for a split second. The energy pellet hit it and dissolved with a soft fizz. The shield collapsed instantly, the effort immense, but he had done it. He had created a Force shield.

The drone fired a third, faster shot. Jax reacted, but his focus was a fraction too slow. He managed to create the shield, but it was weak. The pellet punched through, delivering another painful jolt, though less powerful than the first. He understood. His shields were only as strong as his concentration.

The training drone returned to its alcove. The sphere settled back into the floor. The lesson was over. He was breathing heavily, his body aching from the impacts and his mind drained from the sheer focus required.

He looked over at the doorway where Zana and Kael stood. Kael's jaw was slack with awe. Zana's expression was unreadable, but her cybernetic eye glowed as she calculated the implications of what she had just witnessed. She wasn't just watching a man learn tricks. She was watching the forging of a weapon, a shield, and a key, all in one. The quiet archivist was becoming something more, and their collective fate was becoming more entwined with his strange, impossible training with every passing moment.

As the lights in the Kinetic Chamber returned to their normal, ambient level, Jax leaned against the cool, seamless wall, his legs trembling from a combination of exertion and adrenaline. The stinging sensation in his shoulder from the energy pellet that had gotten through was a dull, persistent ache, a tangible reminder of his failure.

Kael rushed forward, his datapad held out like a holy relic. His face was alight with the manic energy of a scientist who had just witnessed a miracle.

"Incredible!" he stammered, pointing the datapad at Jax. "The energy expenditure for the telekinesis was enormous, a huge, inefficient burst. But the shield! The shield was different. It wasn't a projection of energy; my sensors registered it as a localized kinetic redirection! A temporary distortion of space! Do you know what that means?"

Jax just shook his head, too tired to follow.

"It means a perfect Force shield wouldn't just block an attack," Kael continued, his voice rising with excitement, "it would make the space in front of you impossible for the attack to occupy! It would just… cease to be! Did you feel that? A warping sensation?"

"He blocked two shots out of three, Kael." Zana's voice cut through the technical excitement like a knife. She had walked over to Jax, her expression grimly analytical as she assessed his exhausted state. "The last one got through. Potential is useless without consistency and endurance." She looked directly at Jax, her eyes missing nothing. "That looked like it hurt. And it looks like it drained you completely. We can't rely on a weapon that you can only use twice before collapsing."

Her words were harsh, but they were true. Jax pushed himself off the wall, nodding. "She's right. I was too slow. My focus wavered on the last shot." The gap between seeing the threat and raising the shield had been only a fraction of a second, but it had been wide enough for the attack to get through.

As the thought crossed his mind, the Warden's silent, conceptual voice filled his consciousness, as if it were listening to their debrief.

[THE SHIELD FAILED NOT BECAUSE OF POWER, BUT OF TIME. YOUR MIND IS QUICK, BUT YOUR BODY IS SLOW TO OBEY. THE FORCE CAN BRIDGE THIS GAP.]

Jax absorbed the concept, a new understanding dawning on him. He looked at Zana and Kael. "It… the Warden… it says the next lesson is about speed. It says the problem isn't power, it's the delay between my thoughts and my actions."

The Warden's voice continued in his mind, providing the next startling principle.

[SPEED IS NOT THE ACT OF MOVING YOUR LIMBS FASTER. IT IS THE ART OF PERCEIVING THE MOMENTS BETWEEN MOMENTS, AND ACTING WITHIN THEM.]

Zana's eyes widened slightly as Jax relayed the concept. Her tactical mind immediately grasped the immense implication. "Precognition," she whispered. "The ability to react to something before it happens." She looked at Jax with a new intensity. The strategist in her was seeing a path to turn his raw, unreliable talent into a truly formidable weapon.

"Alright," she said, her voice filled with a renewed sense of purpose. "Then that's our new focus. We need to measure it. We need to drill it. We need to make that gap between thought and action disappear."

She was no longer just a passive observer of his training. She was now an active participant, a coach.

Jax looked from Zana's determined face to Kael's analytical one. They were no longer just watching him. They were actively trying to forge him into something better, something stronger. The weight of their expectations was immense, but for the first time, it didn't feel entirely like a burden. It felt like a plan. His next lesson was set: he had to learn how to move faster than time itself.

They didn't leave the Kinetic Chamber. There was no need for rest, not when they had such a clear and vital objective. Zana's mind was already formulating the exercise, her pragmatic approach to combat training meshing with the Warden's esoteric principles.

"Kael," she commanded, "can you interface with the drone's control panel? I don't want it firing on a simple timer. I want it randomized. Unpredictable."

"I… I think so," Kael said, hurrying to a small, newly-illuminated panel on the wall. "The ship seems to be granting us limited access to these systems now."

Zana turned to Jax. "This isn't about power. This is about instinct. Don't try to create a shield. Don't try to move anything. Just dodge. The pellet is non-lethal, but the pain is real. Let it be your teacher."

Jax nodded, taking his position in the center of the vast, empty room. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension in his muscles. He felt like a student standing before a final exam he hadn't studied for.

"Ready?" Zana called from the observation doorway. Jax gave a sharp nod. "Kael, begin."

The training drone zipped out of its alcove and hovered in the air, its single red optical sensor glowing ominously. It moved left, then right, its movements silent and erratic. Jax's eyes were glued to it, his muscles coiled, ready to spring.

A golden pellet of energy shot out without warning. Jax reacted, diving to the side. He was fast, but the pellet was faster. It clipped his leg, and the familiar, painful jolt seized him, making his muscles contract violently. He hit the floor with a grunt.

"Too slow," Zana stated, her voice dispassionate. "You're waiting until you see it. By then, it's already too late. You're reacting, not anticipating."

He got back to his feet, his leg throbbing. The drone fired again. He dodged, but again, it was just a fraction too slow. The pellet grazed his ribs, the shock stealing his breath.

Failure after failure followed. He was fast for a normal human, but he was trying to solve the problem with his body, with his eyes. He was treating it like a game of dodgeball, and he was losing badly. Exhausted and bruised by the repeated energy shocks, he stood panting in the center of the room.

[YOU ARE TRYING TO SEE,] the Warden's voice echoed in his mind, calm and clear. [SIGHT IS THE SLOWEST SENSE. IT OBSERVES WHAT HAS ALREADY HAPPENED. CLOSE YOUR EYES, KEY. DO NOT WATCH. LISTEN.]

Close his eyes? It was insane. It was suicide. He glanced at Zana, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. He trusted the Warden. He had to.

"Again," Jax called out, his voice hoarse. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

"Jax, what are you doing?" Kael's panicked voice came over the comm.

"Do it, Kael," Zana ordered, her voice tight with curiosity.

The drone began to zip through the air again. Jax stood perfectly still in the darkness behind his own eyelids. He ignored the hum of its movement. He ignored the memory of pain. He simply… listened with the Force.

He reached out, feeling the chamber not with his senses, but with his mind. He felt the drone as a small, kinetic point of energy. He felt the charge building in its weapon system, a tiny spark of gathering power. He felt the targeting system lock onto a point just left of his chest. He felt the intent to fire, a split-second before the physical action occurred.

There.

He didn't think. He didn't plan. His body simply moved, a sharp, reflexive twist to the right. A fraction of a second later, he heard the hiss of the energy pellet flying through the exact spot where his chest had been.

He had dodged it. With his eyes closed.

A wave of exhilaration shot through him, so powerful it eclipsed his exhaustion. He held his position, eyes still shut, and listened again. He felt the drone pivot, felt the charge build, felt the intent to fire at his legs. He bent his knees, dropping under the path of the shot just as it fired.

Hiss. Miss.

From the doorway, Zana and Kael watched in stunned silence. To them, it looked impossible. Jax was a statue that would suddenly, with impossible, economical grace, move just enough to avoid an attack he could not see. He wasn't just dodging. He was flowing around the attacks, a leaf in a stream.

He had stopped trying to be faster than the attack. He was simply moving before the attack began. He was acting in the moments between moments.