Kaidan Alenko was a Jedi. His father was a Jedi. And his grandfather had been a Jedi, and his father before him. When he was a youngling he’d even thought there were as many Jedi with the name Alenko as there were swamp slugs in the Dagobah system.
Or as many scars on John Shepard’s face.
Or as many lies as John Shepard told in a single day.
‘You know, they call me Skywalker,’ Shepard said.
‘No one calls you Skywalker,’ Kaidan replied.
‘Maybe not, but they could,’ Shepard said, tossing Kaidan a helmet. ‘Now buckle up, master, because it’s going to be a bumpy ride.’
When Shepard started calling him princess, Kaidan realized he preferred being called master. Hindsight had perspective the present lacked—a lesson only learned ‘the hard way,’ taught by ‘hard people.’
Hard people like Shepard.
…Who made Kaidan feel like he needed to meditate, but also made meditation impossible. These were the contradictions Kaidan’s master had prepared him for—like an uncharted asteroid field at the end of a hyperspeed jump.
The humidity in the Dagobah system made Kaidan’s hair do some crazy things.
‘Don’t say it,’ Kaidan said.
Shepard held up his hands, palms forward, blaster scarred fingers and swollen knuckles. ‘Silent as… Well, as the Silent,’ Shepard replied.
‘Too bad you’re too old to be a padawan,’ Shepard said.
But Kaidan didn’t need a braid for Shepard to pull.
Shepard, on the other hand, was too old to be a padawan. Too old for a lot of things, but that didn’t seem to slow him down. And the Force was strong with him; Kaidan had felt it during their first daring escape mission and by their third, it had already become familiar. He’d come to expect it.
‘He will be an asset to the rebellion,’ Master Anderson said. Then, after a pause, he added, ‘…Though it may be difficult to believe it now.’
Difficult was an understatement. The whole thing was bound to be an uphill battle. Kaidan could just see it now.
Use the Force, Shepard, he’d say, and Shepard would use his blaster instead.
Kaidan bowed his head. ‘Yes, Master,’ he replied.