The Lady Knight

Luke gave up . . . for today, anyway. He grabbed the remote out of the humid air and turned it off with his thumb. His lightsaber shrunk back into its hilt a moment later. He tossed the remote into his open duffel bag on the ground two metres away. After looking at it a moment, he threw the hilt down onto the duffel with it. Luke set his hands on his hips and huffed. The jungle trees dripped with the recent rain and the base was so far away that he could only hear an occasional fighter zipping overhead. He wandered back to the fallen log and slumped down on it. Staring at the air, he fished a can of water out of his bag and took a thoughtful slug. Then he took another. And then threw his head back and poured the beautiful liquid to splash all over his sweating face. It gave him a momentary grin to feel the free-dripping water, but while he screwed the cap back on, his eyes fell again to that somber stare. The Commander of Rogue Group was dog tired from the recovery of their last fiasco. The Last Jedi Knight was under immense pressure to start duplicating his skill onto other people. And Luke, plain old farm boy Luke, well, he just kept his mouth shut and stewed in an intangible melancholy over it all. He let out a fast sigh and threw the bottle down again. No time for self-pity. It's time to train somebody. He eyed the hilt where it fell in his bag. To train somebody, first I have to find somebody. He shook his head at the jungle clearing, thinking long and hard before admitting the words aloud. "I don't even know where to start." Where are you supposed to start? Luke grinned at his own subconscious voice. He swiped his palm over his face and settled down on the ground, using the fallen log as a backrest. He crossed his feet out in front of him, crossed his arms at his chest, and settled himself into a deep meditation. Worries lost weight. Loneliness listed aside. Pressures peeled away from his thoughts. His mind settled into the most comfortable place he knew. Luke dropped his head against the log and let himself enjoy it. The lights in his eyelids began to change, orange, then yellow, shapes moving, walls of stone, pale fighters, army green uniforms . . . Luke opened his mind, alert. The vision opened up to a squadron of fighters, right here on Yavin Base. He recognized the pie shape of a stone landing pad. These were Y-wings with yellow markings. Gold Group. A dozen jumpsuits milled about, but the vision zoomed in on a particular figure. A repair engineer stood on a footstool under the nose of a Y-wing. Arms, head, and shoulders dug up into the Y-wing's chin as far as the body could reach. Grease smudged the green coveralls. Tools bulged out of various pockets. Combat boots hadn't seen shoe polish in weeks. Short. Skinny. Is this a potential apprentice? Luke questioned in his mind. "Pay attention," Obi-Wan's voice scolded back. Luke focused on the man as he fumbled with the Y-wing, apparently not doing so well. A socket wrench fell out of the same hole in which the head was immersed. It clattered onto the concrete floor. Cussing erupted from inside the machine. Luke lifted an eyebrow. The body ducked to reach for the tool and a face emerged. Blond hair knotted in braids behind her head. Any makeup she may have worn was long rubbed away by work. Black engine grease smudged her temple like battle damage. Brown eyes glared at the socket wrench as though the tool tried to escape the woman on purpose. Luke lifted the other eyebrow. She hopped off the footstool to snatch the wrench from the floor and stomped back up, shoving her body into the Y-wing again. "You wanna fight me on this?" She hissed at the craft. "You are not going to win. You don't get to go out and play until you let me have that flange!" Luke smirked. "Her name is Kesselia Shneya," Obi-Wan's voice said from the nether. "Be careful with her."