The hangar of the Valiant wasn't the best place to conduct Jedi training. It wasn't even a marginally good place for it, in fact. Achieving that zen-like state of focus necessary to tap into the energies of the Force was tantamount to head-butting a durasteel wall, with the sounds of laser-torches burning, wrenches clanging and drills whirring everywhere. Most people would have tossed in the towel, but Corell Capstan was not most people and if there was one thing the Corellian born Jedi Padawan was terrible at it, it was giving up.

The exercise was simple enough, after all: maintain focus long and steady enough to keep a handful of nuts and bolts levitating in the air. They weren't exactly traditional training aides, but as far as anyone could tell, they were gone now. It was time to embrace a new way of thinking, and that meant learning amongst the constant industrial clatter of the Wheel.

In the shadow of a starfighter, the blonde swore succinctly as the nuts and bolts fell – for the first time – to the metal grating at her feet. One lodged itself in a hotel within the flooring, and Corell had to stoop down to pry it free, finding the little bolt now blackened with oil or grease. She wiped it against her olive drab pants and took a slow breath, trying to remember the lines about patience and peace that Navaria Tarkin was so fond of repeating.