I am ten years old, or at least very close to it. Pinpointing my exact age is a complex chore, made difficult by the conflicting chronological systems: the four different calendar dates I've encountered, and the fact that Coruscant's orbital time is different from my original home planet's rotation. Still, the passage of years is clear.
I am now at the age when Jedi Initiates are supposed to receive their apprenticeship and finally become Padawans. I have worked tirelessly for this moment, though my purpose was not to gain a Master, but to strategically avoid one entirely.
My daily training regimen is identical to every other Initiate, but my application of the Force is far from orthodox. I utilize my burgeoning abilities to their fullest, continuously pushing my self imposed limits. The Control aspect of Force powers holds an especially interesting ability known as Force Enlightenment. This technique allows the user to achieve their absolute best performance to date in any given skill.
Right now, I am using a refined form of Force Enlightenment to boost my single strongest ability, telekinesis, while I am safely hidden away in the Temple kitchen.
As usual, the autonomous droids are busy at work, operating the preparation area to its full, humming productivity. But unlike when I first discovered this route, I no longer need to physically stand at the preparation table to create my elaborate, non Temple approved meals. Knives are chopping, sauces are stirred precisely, and peppers are stuffed with intricate fillings all by the quiet, directed power of telekinesis.
"Just a little more heat," I murmured, my eyes fixed on the floating knife that was expertly dicing a bantha steak substitute, a perfectly acceptable protein analogue. "And maintain the stir at exactly 72 RPM."
My process for improvement is simple but potent: I use Force Enlightenment to achieve my absolute peak result every single time, then I immediately modify my application of the ability to incorporate any subtle improvements I noticed, and then I rinse and repeat the process. This alone, the constant, exponential improvement in a single skill, would certainly attract the attention of a Master.
To mitigate this risk, I have also diligently practiced Force Stealth, an ability that, true to its name, masks my presence and prevents easy detection by other Force sensitives. With this combination of powers, I have successfully been passed over for apprenticeship by every interested Master. They observe me, register my seemingly mediocre talent in the Force, and decide I am too weak or unsuitable to teach.
Unbeknownst to them, I have practiced Force Enlightenment, telekinesis, and Force Stealth to such a meticulous degree that a unique, subtle ability has begun to form. I can now use very weak telekinesis while almost perfectly disguising my Force signature. In short, I can manipulate and move small objects without other Force users realizing that any manipulation is occurring. At the moment, I can only move items the size and weight of a coin, but I am confident this nascent ability will grow exponentially.
With these skills, my ultimate goal is to be passed over entirely by the formal apprenticeship system and instead be accepted into the Service Corps, a branch of the Jedi often seen as a dumping ground for the less Force gifted, where I won't be forced into combat.
The self chopping knife stops its rapid work, and a fresh batch of diced vegetables floats gracefully toward a simmering pot. With an added dash of pepper and a melting knob of butter, I patiently wait for the vegetables to sweat and release their full aroma and flavor. I glance over to the Temple's massive, industrial oven and find my spiced buns ready. The heavy door slides open of its own accord, and the searing hot pan drifts out, filling the room with a rich, sweet, and addictive smell that cuts through the sterile air.
My meal is a simple but satisfying vegetable risotto, paired with what I can confidently say is the closest rendition of cinnamon buns I can currently create, complete with generous lashings of cream cheese icing a decadent touch that would send any Temple dietitian into hysterics. I quickly shovel down my food. I have plans today, a mission, and I need to be off as soon as possible.
I am at the ambiguous age where, if I leave the Jedi Temple, no one bothers to look at me with curiosity or suspicion. They simply assume I am a Padawan on a mission, an assumption I use to my absolute advantage.
My mission today is to acquire a nice bit of credit, capital that I desperately need for my ongoing projects. I've established a covert deal with an old timer, a grizzled local I met on one of my initial exploratory trips, to enter a highly illegal, but entirely profitable, gambling ring. The split is a generous 90/10 in my favor. If anyone were to question the "un Jedi" nature of these actions, my only retort would be, "I'm still going to do it."
I stand inconspicuously beside my temporary "Grandpa," a large, scarred Gran named Krel. Krel is in charge of the physical action, while I focus on the outcome.
"Roll 'em, Grandpa," I whisper, standing casually and watching the floating dice table.
Krel picks up the dice, his three eyes focusing intensely. He shakes them in his hand. "Going for the nine, kid. Needs a little luck today."
As the dice tumble onto the table, I subtly nudge them with undetectable Force Telekinesis, ensuring they land precisely on a six and a three.
"Nine!" the dealer shouts, raking in the credits for Krel.
"That's luck, son!" Krel laughs, giving me a discrete thumbs up before pulling back some chips.
I only use the bare minimum required to roll a winning number, just in case there is some highly unlikely, Force aware security or rival gambler present. Grandpa makes the physical rolls, I adjust the outcome, and we both profit. We are careful not to win every single time; a few well placed, entirely believable losses keep the house's attention off of us.
Once we have effectively "cleaned up" the table and earned ourselves a substantial amount of credits, we part ways.
"The girl will have a decent school now, Bee," Krel said, shaking my hand warmly. "You're a good little cheat, kid. Best of luck with your... projects."
"You too, Grandpa," I replied, my voice sounding suitably childlike and innocent. "Don't gamble away the education fund."
I, on the other hand, spend my newly acquired credits almost exclusively on droid parts and technical salvage. I head directly to the massive scrapper yards and secure a great deal on broken and obsolete warship parts.
"You get two hours inside the Krayt's Tooth hulk, kid," the gruff yard foreman grunted, taking my hefty payment. "Anything you can haul out is yours. Don't die in there. We don't clean up the bodies."
"Understood," I chirped, flashing an innocent smile. "Just here for a few parts, sir."
My payment grants me a limited time window to enter broken down or obsolete warships that are awaiting recycling and take whatever I want. This is by far the most cost effective way to use my precious credits.
Using the Force to strengthen my body and quickly guide me through the dark, maze like corridors of crushed metal, I am able to find some truly juicy components. I can skip past the competition at neck breaking speeds while pushing my reinforced, wheeled wagon. I spot a complex language processing unit, ripped from an unlucky, destroyed protocol droid, and into the wagon it goes. I pass an intact cleaning droid, hopelessly trapped by crumpled metal but still instinctively trying to clean the debris of the now defunct starship.
"Sorry, little guy," I said, telekinetically ripping the droid free and tossing it into the wagon. "You're coming with me."
I Force prize open a turbo lift car and swiftly gut the internal components I want, using my telekinesis to rip them free. The components are useful, but being gentle is unnecessary in this environment.
As I venture deeper into the massive hulk, I begin to find higher quality salvage. I don't need to be careful when moving caved in ceilings or worry about unseen, razor sharp pieces of metal, as the Force is constantly with me, providing an almost impenetrable bubble of protection and anticipation.
An average team of scavengers must be hyper vigilant: they must carefully plan every movement, painstakingly remove debris, and ensure their life is not forfeit to the countless dangers a sloppy scrapper would die from. I, however, am now surrounded with loot to such a degree that I am genuinely spoiled for choice.
What catches my eye the most is a sign beside a heavily sealed door: the distinctive cross of healing that anyone with half a brain would recognize as medical infrastructure. My greed flickers, daring me to hope for what I might find. In my mind, I remain skeptical.
I couldn't believe that the scraping yard's initial collection teams wouldn't have systematically picked this area clean before opening it to the public scrappers. The doors are surprisingly easy to open; I don't even have to mess with any complex panels. I simply use the Force to flip a hidden switch behind the access panel, and the door quietly slides open.
What awaits me is a staggering treasure trove of Class One medical droids, four to be exact: three stationary surgical droids that are fixed to the wall mounts, and a mobile hover nurse model.
"Jackpot," I breathed, telekinetically pulling the hover nurse model toward my wagon. "This is better than cinnamon buns."
I instantly wanted them all, but their large size meant I had to ruthlessly discard all the smaller, less valuable loot I had collected up to this point.
That day, I went completely overboard and spent my credits making a further three separate runs into the hulk. My logic was simple: if the yard's primary collection team had somehow overlooked the valuable medical droids, they might also have missed other high value systems, like the engine room or the armory.
I was correct. However, the worst thing about being the first scrapper in a fresh, new area is the overwhelming necessity of choosing what to take. I decided to prioritize taking only the items that weren't permanently bolted down for ease of looting and escape. Since I am intensely focused on building up my own technical corps, I prioritized droids.
By the end of my marathon scavenging session, I secured a massive haul of second class engineering droids, the four aforementioned medical droids, a couple of third class science droids, a navigation droid, and a downright silly amount of service droids.
Every single piece of equipment was discreetly sent back to the Jedi Temple's receiving depot under my adopted Temple nickname. I also picked up other valuable items, including energy weapons such as blaster rifles and pistols. I think the ship must have been caught in a fierce battle, judging by some of the torn and scorched walls, but their loss was most certainly my gain.
I can't wait to start tinkering with this haul. I have so many projects waiting.