My name is Syrmé Carr. I am fifteen years old, and a Jedi (well, almost). After making that introduction statement, I will proceed to go a little more in depth about myself.

I live on a moon called Yavin IV with my mother, my father, and my uncle - who lives with his family a few houses down. My uncle, Luke Skywalker, is a Jedi Knight - the first since the start of the Republic. I wasn't even alive yet when that happened, but it was rather recent - about a year before I was born (imagining my uncle and my mother sixteen years younger is strange, I tell you). My mother is Princess Leia Organa-Skywalker Carr - yes, she has a freakin' long name, and it pisses me off sometimes. She was the princess of the late Alderaan, her adoptive father was Bail Organa, her real father was Anakin Skywalker - or the infamous Darth Vader, that fact still gets me sometimes - and my father's name is Carr. I still do not understand why all of us women have to take our husband's or our father's names - but whatever. My mother is thirty-nine now, as well as my uncle, and she's as stubborn as a rancor. Everyone tells me I can get more stubborn than her, sometimes, which I firmly do not believe. Anyhow, it would be her fault, since I get none of that stubbornness - or lack thereof - from my father.

Don't get me wrong, I love my father - Leo Carr - but he easily frustrates me. The guy can't make his own decisions, and he is as bland as... well, I don't know, but he's pretty personality-less. Also, he gets overly worried when discussing my speeder-bike races and gets concerned when I take ships out and fly them around. Sure, I suppose I'm rather reckless, but all in good fun. I was taught by Luke, anyways, who says I'm a natural, so my father needn't worry.

When I compare my father and my mother, I realize that I inherit close to nothing from him. I get my so-called stubbornness from mom, as well as my eye shape and color, my nose is my Uncle Luke's, but I, frankly, have no idea where my mouth, my hair color, or my height comes from. My mom's mouth has a sort of pouty lower lip, slightly bigger than her upper lip, and my dads are sort of thin, while mine are just full. And round. And each about the same size, too. My hair color is that of a lightish-brown... well, perhaps that is a mix between my mother's dark and my father's blonde. I wouldn't know, I don't pay attention in the science classes at the Academy that much. My height is a whole different story. All of them are short. My whole family. My father is only a bit taller than mom - which isn't saying much - and I am about two inches short of my father's and Luke's height.

Also, not to brag, but I am quite a good Jedi. Considering that my uncle is Luke Skywalker, that's no surprise. I must say, I excel with the lightsaber, but I'm also quick with a blaster - something that makes Luke laugh, for some reason. My only weakness is science and the fact that I tend to get a little arrogant. I am pretty good at everything else, though - lightsabers, history, Force theory, meditation (well, I suppose I can work on that - I just can't seem to sit still, and its pissed off Luke more than once) and I'm the best in the Academy when it comes to dealing with ships. Not to be cocky, or anything.

Today is one of the days of the week that Luke allows his students to relax and meditate, and just walk around. Most students live in dorm rooms, but, since my family is here, I just live at home. Well, it could be argued that I live at Luke's house, but since I sleep at my house, I suppose I can call that my home. Luke's house is just so much more fun - its centered deep in one of the forests, and my little cousins are running around and screaming everywhere while my Aunt Mara yells at them and her husband playfully. My house is just dull: I am an only child, and my mother is into politics - something I can't stand - while my father enjoys his research. Unlike Uncle Luke and Aunt Mara, their relationship is dead. I can't remember the last time they kissed, or shared a hearty laugh. They tolerate each other fine enough, they get along, they sleep in the same bed - but that's about it. It worries me sometimes, but I'm so busy that it doesn't usually enter my thoughts unless I'm laying awake at night, looking through my window at the sky lit up with bright stars, the tropical, dense air seeping its way through the light curtain.

During those times, I think about many things - various scenarios; exciting, adventurous scenarios, like what I hear mom and Luke talking about. They did the craziest things when they were younger, and were two prime members of the Rebellion - they are already in the history holobooks, which is a reason why I like history so much. Sometimes I read - ancient mythology, novels, or yet more history. I love reading about the Rebellion, the Death Star, and all those things. I personally know almost everyone from those times. Almost. Some are dead, some are gone, and some are just stuck-up.

Well, back to today. It is midmorning. I had just finished arguing with my mother - this time, over my hair. She keeps insisting on braiding it, while I enjoy it down or in a low ponytail. We get into the stupidest arguments, but now I am off sulking in my room after an unsuccessful attempt to get dad to side with me. I sigh, then walk out of my room after five minutes of being sullen. I have better things to do with my time.

"Syrmé." calls my mother's voice.

"Yeah?" Hopefully it was not a continuation of the hair argument. She walks out, her own dark brown flecked with gray hair tied with braids.

"Going anywhere?"

"To work on my ship." I answer. Uncle Luke, for my birthday, had given me an old X-wing from the Rebel days. It was broken down, and I enjoyed starting to fix it. Just then, although, I see something flicker across my mother's eyes. I don't understand it. Did I hurt her somehow?

"Is something wrong, mom?" I ask, frowning lightly. She looks up at me, sharply.

"Of course not. I was just... never mind." She reverts to a different subject, and gives me a smile. "I don't understand my brother sometimes. He's all about moving forward and then he gets you an X-wing. A broken one, at that."

I grin at her. "That's Luke for ya." I said, sauntering out and toward the side-house, where I keep my ship. I climb up the ladder and into the cockpit, noting the blaster marks, and various small things about the ship that needs to be done. In the cockpit, I look at the broken data screen and a few chipped buttons. This thing was gonna take a lot of work, but I'm confident that it would get done. In time. I knew many other people doubt this - including my mother, who seems to sigh dismally whenever I talk about my progress on it at dinner. I absently run my fingers over a chip in the metal part on the underside of the seat, subconsciously noting yet another problem. Suddenly my fingers run over something strange. I frown, peering downward. Metal, again, but a different kind; loose, but stuck. Maybe not stuck, but... held. I can't explain it, so I turn around in the cramped compartment to study the bottom. It is dark underneath, but I shut my eyes, letting the Force see for me.

Huh. An old holochip. That's interesting.

Its maybe seventeen, eighteen years old. I put my fingers on either side of the little compartment that held it - a strange place, I might add, to keep a holochip - and snap it out, with some difficulty after getting past the rust. I study it for a moment, straightening in the compartment and hopping out quickly onto the ladder, jumping the last four steps down. I walk to my house again, slowly, turning the chip over and over in my fingers. I jog up the steps, absently jabbing the pad next to the door, walking in as it hisses shut past me. I look around for my mother, before finding her in her office, typing into her computer terminal. She smiled at me as I cross the room, pulling up a chair beside her.

"What is it?" she asks, peering at me, interested.

"Look." I answer, holding out the tiny chip to her. She takes it, studying it with her fingers as I had done.

"Where did you find this?" she asks, looking up thoughtfully.

"Under the seat of my X-wing."

My mother laughs. "Good gods..." she mutters, shaking her head, flipping on and watching a dusty, slightly blue light spring from the little lens. Two people, in orange flight suits and white vests, holding white helmets under their arms.

"Oh my..." my mother started, amazed, but she's interrupted with the audio of the recording.