Stormtrooper Helmet

The image was not what it seemed, but the pain was undeniable.

It hit him like the opposite of what he imagined hyperspace was like, a blinding white light streaked with black flames shooting directly into his eyes. Even with his lids shut, Karr could feel it burning his retinas. Had he not known better, he would’ve blamed it on a flaw in the lenses of the stormtrooper helmet he’d recently bought—Death Star era, slight carbon scoring, 7.5 grade level in the antique military guide—but otherwise not a bad purchase for fifty-seven credits. Unless, of course, it was responsible for the pain. But he knew that wasn’t the case. Not even brand-new lenses could protect him from this agony.

As the pain bored into his eye sockets, he recalled a warning a pilot gave him once, about never staring directly into a double-haloed Tatooine eclipse.

Good advice, he thought as he began to lose consciousness.

Only he wasn’t entering Tatooine airspace. He was entering the Force.

“Are you okay?” Karr heard someone ask in a tinny voice. Actually, it probably wasn’t a tinny voice but rather a damaged speaker in the stormtrooper helmet. Maybe 7.5 wasn’t an accurate grade for the piece of junk after all.

Karr was lying on his back. The floor was cold, but his face was hot.

“What are you wearing?” This time he could tell the voice belonged to a woman, but he thought that was an odd follow-up question. Usually when people came across him passed out on the floor they’d ask him if he knew his name. “Karr Nuq Sin,” he mumbled out of habit, realizing only a hair too late that wasn’t the question she had asked him.

“What are you wearing?” she asked again slowly, sounding more annoyed.

“Green cargo pants, blue flight jacket, desert boots, black gloves, and a newly acquired Death Star–era stormtrooper helmet. Grade level: seven point—” He stopped himself in light of the new information and reevaluated. “Six point nine.”

“You need to take it off. Now.” Her voice sounded like coins and static through the helmet, but yes. It was definitely a woman. Probably a teacher.

“School policy prohibits any student from carrying a weapon or wearing military paraphernalia,” she added, probably quoting some passage from the code of conduct.

Karr wouldn’t know. He’d never read it.

He struggled to his feet and searched the floor for the black glove that always landed nearby after one of his episodes. He found it and used it to salute her. “No military paraphernalia present, sir!”

“Except for the helmet?” She ignored the incorrect address and took the glove from his hand to inspect it.

“The helmet is an artifact…sir!” Now he was pushing it.

Namala Moffat sighed. “Just take it off.” He pulled the helmet loose with a soft pop. Now she could see him for what he really was: a brown-haired, brown-eyed kid with a chipped tooth to go along with the chip on his shoulder. “Where’d you get that?” she asked.

“I got it from Janu Blenn. His great-grandfather was a service fueler in the Empire,” Karr told her. “Stormtrooper, third class.”

Moffat frowned. “That boy’s shyer than a Snivvian at a market auction. He told you all that?”

Karr just smiled. “In a way.”

In the years since his unusual abilities had surfaced, no doctor (human or droid) had been able to explain them. Episodes of blinding light and searing pain weren’t exactly coveted abilities, but the images that accompanied those things were pretty cool. Most of the time. If he remembered them when he came to.

Karr didn’t feel like explaining all that to the teacher, so he didn’t.

The truth was that, yes, Janu Blenn was incredibly shy, but he was also stubborn. It’d taken Karr five whole days to convince Janu to sell him the trooper helmet after he overheard the boy relay some family lore about how his great-grandfather claimed to have had his mind manipulated by a Jedi. Karr figured he probably made the whole thing up to get a better grade on his history project, since the Jedi didn’t exist during Imperial times, but he had to know for sure. Which is why he was willing to go as high as fifty-seven credits.

Of course it would’ve been easier to just wave his hand and manipulate Janu’s thoughts like a Jedi, but Karr wasn’t there yet.

Soon, he hoped. But not yet.

Which was why he needed the helmet.

[...]

After that, Karr decided to learn as much about the Jedi as he could. Through books, through stories, and if need be, through the headaches. Which was why a good part of Karr’s days was spent searching for things he could touch that might shed some light on the lost masters: robes, weapons, communicators, and of course his most recent acquisition, the stormtrooper helmet.

The teacher wasn’t having it. She plucked the helmet out of his hands. “I’ll just…hold on to this, until after the final siren,” Moffat said with enough authority that it would probably keep most kids from arguing. “You can have it back then.”

But Karr wasn’t most kids. He turned on the sly charm, or that’s what he hoped it sounded like when he said, “Why don’t I just keep it in my locker?”

The teacher stared at him.

[...]

From where he was sitting, Karr could see across the lobby and into the teacher’s lounge. In there, Moffat worked at a table—reading through a database that was probably filled with job listings for some different career path. The trooper helmet rested beside her screen. She had won the argument as to where it would stay for now, but Karr had gotten what he needed from the object—confirmation that Janu Blenn was either lying or misinformed. Karr had seen no Jedi in his vision, only the blurry images of the Death Star and an explosion. Whatever he was meant to get from the vision was still unclear. It hadn’t shown him any Force wielders, at least none that he was aware of. But still, the eyes of the mask stared back at him from across the way as if they were angry. As if he had stolen something from them. And in a way, he had.


- Force Collector, Chapters 1 and 2