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Hera strode into the mostly empty briefing room with as much formality as she could muster, pleased to find Mart Mattin already waiting at the front of the room. Chopper, at her heel as always, made no such attempt, grumbling to himself as they walked over to join the young man. Hera couldn’t blame the droid.
After spending all morning combing over their proposed plans for any potential flaws, then the afternoon troubleshooting solutions when they inevitably became apparent, she wanted nothing more than to return to the Ghost and sleep for the next 20 hours. But, that wasn't an option. With the threat of the Empire looming ever larger, High Command had decided it was time to consolidate its forces on Yavin in preparation for a larger attack. It was incredible to see how much the Rebellion had grown in such a short amount of time; members from all over the galaxy and dozens of cells all brought together under one roof. But for her, as a General, it also meant countless introductory briefings and assessments in order to effectively determine who needed what training and which teams would compliment each other.
“General,” Mart nodded in greeting, handing her a datapad containing the files of the new arrivals.
“Mart,” Hera replied with a smile. “How are you?”
“I’m good. And you?”
“Well, thanks,” she said politely, noting the slight concern in the young man’s eyes.
Mart was a good kid, one who had stepped into his role with grace after their return from Lothal. He was a natural leader, and unlike many of the other brash, hot-headed pilots, had willingly volunteered to assist newbies in their transition to life on Yavin base. Sato would have been beyond proud of him.
He was also, however, one of the few who had been there in the aftermath of Kanan’s death and Ezra’s sacrifice, and had bore witness to the grief that had very nearly consumed her in the days that followed. It was only natural that he would worry after that, especially since she hadn’t had time to speak with him for longer then a quick conversation following their return to base. She put on what she hoped was a warm smile, doing her best to convince him she was fine. If I only I actually felt it, she thought wanly.
She deliberately kept her eyes low as the new arrivals trickled in, pretending not to see the odd looks they cast in her direction as they settled onto the chairs spread out around the room. In the last week she’d finally had to accept that not even her bulkiest jacket was hiding much of anything anymore, so she’d started putting comfort over presentation and just leaving it open. For most of her pilots, it was simply confirmation of something they’d suspected for a long time; she hadn’t been shocked to learn of several betting pools about that fact. But it was awkward around new recruits who walked in expecting a battle-ready hero and were instead met with an exhausted, pregnant Twi’lek. Not that she couldn’t whoop the Empire’s ass as she was, of course, but it wasn’t exactly her finest look.
At the very least, the pilots she was meeting with today weren’t completely green. She hadn’t had the time between all of her other duties to read over their reports in advance, but from what she’d been told, they were from an isolated cell who had been working on the fringes of the Outer Rim for some time. They were new to Yavin base, but should be relatively easy to slot into their existing structure. Still, ‘easy’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘quick’.
Hera sighed, stopping herself just before she moved to rest a hand on her stomach, instead redirecting to rub Chopper’s dome. The droid, who had still been grumbling to himself with his manipulators crossed infront of him like a petulant toddler, quieted.
She mentally prepared for the long night ahead of her. After the briefing, she’d have a little more of an idea about the capabilities of these pilots, and so would be able to plan what she’d have the pilots do tomorrow in their flight tests. She’d also need to review all their reports and get those ready to be added to their database-
Movement by the door caught her attention, and she froze.
A woman was walking in. She was tall, with brown skin and pale hair pulled back into a tail. Warm brown eyes on a familiar face.
She met Hera’s gaze, and broke into a wide smile. “Hera!” she cried out, rushing towards her, and before Hera could even comprehend what was happening, she was being pulled into a tight hug.
“Omega!” Hera breathed, enthusiastically returning the embrace.
“I knew it was you!” Omega beamed, pulling back but leaving her hands on Hera’s shoulders. “They said we would be working under General Syndulla and I just knew it had to be.”
“I- you’re here!” Hera stammered, struggling to find the words through the powerful surge of emotions that rushed through her.
All of a sudden she was 10 again, being guided through the girl’s ship and home, stealing her first ship, waving goodbye as she and her parents escaped Lessu. It was strange, really. She’d known the young clone and her brothers for less than a day, but, face to face with the woman before her, it was as though she’d been reunited with a lifelong friend. She sniffed, squeezing Omega’s shoulders, trying not to crumple into a teary mess. Damn pregnancy hormones. To her mercy, she could see the shine in Omega’s eyes.
Chopper rammed into their knees, loudly bleating his upset at being excluded from the reunion. “C’mere, Chopper,” Omega laughed, getting down on a knee to reach his level. “I couldn’t forget you!”
Hera rubbed his dome, glad that the droid was happy to see someone for a change. It was rare that Chopper met someone he actually liked, especially now that he’d become more protective than a guard hound. Omega, it seemed, was an exception.
“Um, General?” Mart said softly, shuffling awkwardly beside them. “Everyone has arrived.”
Hera straightened, blinking rapidly to try and compose herself. “Of course,” she nodded, then turned back to Omega. “Dinner, afterwards, on my ship?”
“Absolutely,” the woman agreed, and Chopper gave a cheering whoop. With a last sheepish nod to Mart for her, much welcome, disruption, she returned to where the others she’d entered with had sat down, all of them shooting confused looks between their crewmate and the General. Chopper, claiming to be bored of her meetings, trailed after her. Hera just shook her head fondly, then moved to the front of the room to begin her presentation.
“Thank you all for coming. Welcome to Base One,” she began, then, wasting no time, she launched into a brief explanation of the base’s operations and where the pilots would be expected to fit in. She’d given the spiel enough times that it was easy enough for her mind to slip into autopilot, making space for the thousands of thoughts and questions the clone’s appearance had brought bubbling to the surface.
The last time she and Omega had seen each other, the girl had been travelling with her brothers, 4 other unusual clones, but none were among the group with her now. Hera wouldn’t be surprised if they had chosen to stop fighting. They’d still had accelerated ageing, like Rex, and while he had stayed with the Rebellion, he rarely participated in active combat these days. He was more than willing to share his extensive battle experience, and had become her go to when she needed a sounding board for her more ambitious plans, but after a lifetime surrounded by war and death, he couldn’t be a soldier any longer. Hera didn’t blame him, nor would she any of his brothers that had made the same choice. She hoped that was the fate of Omega’s brothers, and not the more tragic alternative.
A sudden thought struck her, and she had to pause her speech for a moment before she was able to continue. She had never actually talked to Rex about Omega and the odd group of clones. It seemed ludicrous in hindsight, why had she never mentioned it? That whole day, from their meeting on the moon to her parents’ capture and escape, had been such a whirlwind of emotions that it almost felt as though it wasn’t real. Not to mention, for most of her relationship with Kanan, even the mention of clones had been enough to set him on edge. He had come a long way in the last few years, even becoming close with Rex, but she’d habitually kept her stories involving clones to a minimum, and she supposed she’d unintentionally kept that up, even after his death. Her breathing stuttered, and she forced herself to get back on track. Regardless of her reasons, Rex had had a wide network of brothers across the galaxy at one point, hadn’t he? Was it possible that he knew of them?
She’d already been thrilled to show the woman her ship as soon as they escaped this briefing, but now she was positively giddy.
-----
“If there are no further questions,” Hera paused, the Twi’lek looking briefly around the room for any raised hands before continuing, “then we will leave it there for today. Find your quarters, settle in, and I’ll see you tomorrow for your assessments. Dismissed.”
Omega leapt up as soon as the General finished talking, barely able to contain the excitement that bubbled up within her. The briefing had dragged on for an eternity, and she’d had to bite her lip to stop herself from groaning when the other pilot’s had begun asking questions afterwards. Not that she had actually retained much of the information, but she was sure Hera would be able to fill her in later.
She still couldn’t quite believe it. She’d just about choked on her caf when they’d been told they’d be reporting to a ‘General Syndulla’, much to the confusion of her squadron. They’d accepted her vague explanation that she might know her with only a little scepticism, but Omega had tempered her excitement by telling herself that it might just be a common surname; maybe they weren’t even a Twi’lek. But that thin pane of apprehension had shattered the second she’d seen the jade-skinned woman at the front of the room.
It had taken a long time for Omega to realise that for most of her childhood, she’d been lonely. She’d dismissed it at first; after all, she’d always had Nala Se and the other clones on Kamino, and then her brothers on the Marauder, who had always made sure she knew she was loved and cared for. But growing up, the others had rapidly overtaken her, and once the war had begun in earnest, she’d barely been given the opportunity to interact with them outside of assisting Nala Se.
Hera was the first girl she’d ever met her age, and, with their shared love of ships and flying, they’d bonded quickly, and given Omega a glimpse of what having friends was like. Not friends like her brothers, who, though she loved deeply, were also her caregivers and her teachers, and, mentally, much older than she’d been. But just a friend.
She’d made many such friends over the years, formed connections all over the galaxy that she treasured. However, she’d never forgotten her first, had thought back often to the green-skinned girl, and wondered what had happened to her. 20 odd years later, it seemed she had become her commanding officer, and Omega couldn’t be happier.
Chopper tugged on her pant leg with a manipulator, blatting impatiently as he tried to drag her back towards Hera. “Okay, Okay! I’m coming!” Omega laughed, shooting an apologetic wave back at her squadron. They still looked confused, but seemed to have realised she hadn’t been exaggerating about knowing the General. She’d meet back up with them later. For now, she followed the little C1 astromech to the front of the room. The droid was smaller than she remembered, though that was more likely because she’d been a scrawny 11 year old when they’d last met than any size change on his part. Other than that, he looked nearly identical, not a small feat considering that he’d already been ancient then.
Hera was talking to the young lieutenant as they approached, though she flicked them a quick smile.
“Thankyou, General,” the man said, wrapping up as he saw Chopper and Omega.
“You’re very welcome, Mart. We’ll talk soon, okay?” Hera replied.
Mart nodded, then, with a polite smile at Omega, slipped in with the pilots on their way out of the room. Hera gathered up her datapads, then gave a readying exhale.
“C’mon,” she said, her voice switching from an even, professional military commander to something more like an excited child. “This way!”
Hera led the way through busy corridors back towards the ship hangers, jade head-tails swaying elegantly behind her. Omega made sure to slow her pace to match the other woman, even if she had enough energy to run laps around the base right now. Her squadron hadn’t had much of a chance to explore yet, and stepping into the hanger for the first time, she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped from her lips.
Rows of starfighters lined the large space, X-wings and A-wings and even a few B-wings, all being tended to by pilots and mechanics teasing and yelling across the cavernous hall. “I never imagined there could be so many,” Omega breathed, taking it all in.
“And more each day,” Hera beamed. She looked back over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Makes it seem like we might actually pull this off, doesn’t it?”
She smiled, but Omega couldn’t miss the wistful sadness underlying her tone.
Unlike her droid, Hera had changed. Physically, obviously. She was a woman now, as Omega was, and was evidently pregnant, something she hadn’t anticipated. She no longer spoke with a Rylothian accent either, her new voice so refined Omega would have fully believed she’d grown up in the Mid-Rim had she not known better. But while the Twi’lek still possessed the same unwavering courage and gentle boldness she’d shown in her youth, there was a weight to it now. What had happened to her friend that had caused such a shift?
Hera continued through the open hangar, nodding and waving at several pilots who called out greetings as they passed. The easy kinship warmed Omega’s heart. Was this what it was like for her brothers during the Clone Wars, working alongside their Jedi generals? Omega gave her own smiles and waves to the ever-curious pilots as they passed out the other side of the hangar to a smaller, more secluded landing zone, where several large cargo-type vessels sat on the duracrete.
Hera set course for a diamond-shaped light freighter set down towards the opening of the hangar. A VCX-100, if she hadn’t completely forgotten Tech’s arduous lessons on ship classifications, though it seemed to be modified. She could see the engines had had baffling added, and the auxilary vessel perched on it’s back seemed to be different than the standard. Not uncommon on a VCX; the ships were known for being versatile, one reason they were often sought after by smugglers.
As they approached the lowered entry ramp, Hera waved a hand towards the ship. “Welcome to the Ghost,” she said with unmistakable pride, gesturing Omega aboard.
“Ghost, huh?” She quirked a brow as she stepped into the large cargo hold. “Equipped for stealth, I take it?”
“Naturally,” Hera grinned, walking towards a cargo lift at the back of the space. “But that’s not all. Wait until you see what she can do in combat.”
A moment later, her confidence faltered, and the green-skinned woman grimaced. She brought a gloved hand to rest over her stomach. “Though, uh, you might be waiting a while. The medics already don’t like me flying, and I think taking her on a joyride might just convince Mon to officially ground me.”
Omega winced empathically, joining Hera and her droid on the cargo lift before it started to raise. “How far along are you?”
“Almost 7 months,” Hera sighed. “Feels like an eternity though. I wish they’d hurry it up a bit. I can’t say this is pleasant.” She shook her head, but a wry smile crept to the corner of her lips. The lift stopped, pulling Hera’s attention back to the ship. “This way,” she gestured off the lift. “I think some of the others are already here.”
Sure enough, loud voices echoed down a hallway towards them.
“Oh c’mon! There’s no way that bantha dung is allowed!” came a deep, gravelly shout.
“Just accept it,” replied another, and Omega’s heart stopped. “My strategy is simply better.”
She knew that voice, but more than that, she knew exactly which of her brothers it belonged to.
Omega burst forward, unable to wait for Hera, careening into a common room. On an acceleration couch around a flickering dejarick table sat a hulking Lasat and a clone. One she never thought she’d see again.
“Rex,” she whispered, tears springing to the corners of her eyes. The two had frozen in place at her sudden appearance, mouths open and eyes wide. The Lasat just looked confused, but Rex shot up from the table, staring in disbelief. “Omega?” he breathed, taking a few hesitant steps toward her. She nodded, and he broke out into a smile, laughing, then threw his arms out wide. Omega rushed forward, and they clung together in a tight embrace.
“I- I thought you were dead!” she choked out. “When we lost contact, we thought the Empire got you, how…?”
Rex relaxed his grip slightly, and Omega stepped back, though the older clone kept a hand on her shoulder. He was older now, as all her brothers were, hair turned white and lines around eyes, but not weak. His eyes were solemn, and his voice shook slightly as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Omega. After everything that happened… I thought going quiet would be better for everyone. But I should have reached out the second I came back.”
Omega nodded, accepting the extraneous apology without a second thought. Truly, she was too lost in the chaotic blend of joy and gratitude to fully understand the implications of Rex’s survival, but she knew no matter the cause for his disappearance, she was just glad to have him back. She sniffled, rubbing her eyes. Hera, at least, she’d been prepared for. This? She’d never anticipated. Rex smiled again, corners of his eyes crinkling. He looked her up and down, then huffed, giving her an affectionate thump on the shoulder. “Look at you. You’re overtaking us now!” he laughed.
“I thought you might know each other,” Hera said as she entered, though from the concern that flashed over her features as she took in their shaky smiles, she hadn’t anticipated quite so an emotional reunion. Omega nodded, and Rex chuffed. “Yeah, since she was about yay high,” he said, waving a hand around his mid-thigh. Omega shook her head, laughing, as Hera moved to stand beside the bewildered Lasat. “Omega, this is Zeb. Zeb, Omega.”
“Nice to meet you,” Omega chimed. “Sorry to interrupt your game.”
“Eh, no problem. Rex was cheating anyway,” the Lasat grumbled, shooting a pointed glare at the older clone, who puffed his chest out in indignation in response.
Hera rolled her eyes, then tapped Zeb on his shoulder. “Take a seat,” she said to Omega and Rex before turning to Zeb. “We’ll get some dinner started. Hope you like Rycrit stew!”
“That sounds great!” Omega answered as the pair moved towards a small galley on the other side of the room.
One terrible, burning question brought on by Rex’s survival came to mind as they settled into the acceleration couch. One she was certain she knew the answer to, but that needed confirmation. “Echo?” she asked softly.
Rex’s smile faltered, and he lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, Omega. Wolffe and I, we’re all that’s left here, now.”
Omega nodded numbly. The grief that came was less of a painful stab, more just a dull thud, steady and final. She’d known it to be true, and had for some time, in the way that she just knew things sometimes. But to hear it said aloud, to have it confirmed… it was relief and despair all at once.
Soon, she would ask for the full story, for what had happened to have caused all of their connections to their brothers to go dark with no warning. But she couldn’t do that now, and from the pinched expression Rex gave her, he understood. He nodded slowly. Later, that look promised, and Omega returned it. The older clone offered her a smile, rubbing her arm gently.
Their quiet moment was interrupted when loud footsteps clanged down the hallway. From the galley, Hera immediately lifted her head, then swore under her breath moments before a colourful Mandalorian entered the common area. Without a bucket, her panic was clear to see as she hurriedly searched the room. The young woman locked eyes with Hera, and her tension fell away with an exasperated sigh. “Manda above, Hera! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” she cried, waving her hands for emphasis as Hera approached her. “I went to the briefing to pick you up but Mart said you ran off as soon as it ended, and I thought something terrible had happened ag-.”
“Sabine,” Hera cut her off, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m fine, I just forgot we were meeting. I ran into an old friend.”
Sabine didn’t look at all satisfied with that answer, and looked as though she was about to continue on her rant, but froze when she finally caught sight of the stranger at the dejarick table.
“Hello,” Omega chirped, waving a hand.
“Hi?” Sabine returned, caught off guard. After a moment, her eyes narrowed slightly, focusing first on Omega’s face before quickly darting to Rex’s. Omega resisted the urge to roll her eyes, knowing exactly what the Mandalorian was trying to figure out. Instead, she smiled patiently. “Yes, I’m a clone. I’m just a little different to my brothers.” Sabine nodded sharply, embarrassed to have been called out, but Omega didn’t really mind.
It was something she’d frequently had to explain growing up, and she was used to a certain measure of confusion surrounding her appearance. Truth be told, she had her own questions about her existence, but she’d had to accept that the only people with a chance of knowing the answers were long dead. The best she and her brothers could figure, she’d originally been part of an experiment investigating M-count transference in clones, not dissimilar to how her brothers had been used to test the impacts of enhancing specific traits. Her other abnormalities had simply been side effects of that.
In any case, her original purpose and how she had come to be what she was didn’t matter all that much anymore. Any evidence of her existence had been wiped from existence when Tantiss had blown, and no Imperials had shown special interest in her since. It wasn’t even often she was recognised as a clone these days; as her brothers had aged and been pushed to the fringes of the galaxy, the image of what a clone looked like had faded from public memory. Now, only those who had spent a significant amount of time around her brothers seemed to realise she was one, too.
“Did anything important happen with the armoury inventory?” Hera asked, recapturing the Mandalorian’s attention.
“No,” Sabine replied, a frown still present on her brow. “Plenty of new idiots who I don’t trust within a sector of a bomb, but nothing bad enough to report.”
She didn’t elaborate further, studying the older woman with intense brown eyes pinched in concern. Hera sighed. “I’m okay, Sabine. I promise.”
Sabine bit her lip, but reluctantly accepted it with a small nod.
Omega tried not to watch too closely, studying the patterns on the dejarick table. Though short, the interaction spoke to a history of times where they had not been okay, times it was best not to linger on.
“Dinner’s almost ready. Take a seat, I’ll bring it out in a second,” Hera said, giving the Mandalorian one last smile before returning to the galley. Sabine watched her go for a long moment before heading to the table, eyeing Omega curiously.
“Omega,” she introduced herself, offering out a hand to clasp arms in the traditional Mandalorian manner. The young woman obliged with a wry smile.
“Sabine of Clan Wren,” she replied, removing any doubt she was Mandalorian born and raised. A glimmer of amusement in her eye, she switched languages. “How’s your Mando’a?”
“My brothers taught me well,” Omega responded.
“Sabine, please don’t harass the guest.” Hera chided, reappearing with bowls in hand, shooting the girl a long look. Her speech was slightly clunky in the language, but far from unintelligible. Sabine rolled her eyes, but Omega could sense she’d earned the young woman’s approval.
“Old friends, huh?” Sabine asked as Zeb brought the last of the bowls over, and they all squeezed in to fit around the table.
“We met when we were just kids,” Hera began, and with a grin at Omega, launched into the tale of their first encounter on Ryloth’s moon, and the ensuing rescue of her parents after they’d been captured. Omega chimed in every now and again with her side of the story; how her brothers had been so grumpy about it but hadn’t had the heart to say no, and how their wobbly first flight had been the kicker to finally get Tech to teach her how to fly.
The old memories, combined with the easy conversation and hearty soup, left Omega feeling content in a way she hadn’t since leaving Pabu. Thinking back to Ryloth, to when she’d been 11 and seeing the galaxy for the first time, made her long for those days when everything had seemed so simple. They helped those that needed it. She still stuck by that principle, of course, but age had taught her the galaxy was endlessly complicated, and she couldn't save everyone.
It also made her miss the brothers she had lost.
Still, it would be struggle not to smile and laugh as the conversation kept flowing, and Sabine and Zeb bickered about some old grievance Omega had no context for, and Hera looked on with a mix of exasperation and indisputable love. This is her family, Omega thought with certainty, and her heart warmed with gratitude at being so openly welcomed into their home.
Eventually, the meal drew to a close, all bowls polished and bellies full. Hera’s head lifted with a new idea, and she grinned at Omega. “Want to see the cockpit?” she asked excitedly, like a child hoping to show off a new toy.
“Like you have to ask!” Omega beamed back, no less childishly.
Hera stood, reaching to gather the bowls before they left.
“I can do it,” Sabine interjected, lunging to get to a bowl first. Hera gave her a long-suffering look, which Sabine returned with an overly polite smile, until the older woman relented with a sigh. She let the younger woman stack the bowls, meeting Omega’s gaze as she rolled her eyes, then nodded her head in the direction of the cockpit.
“I know they mean well,” Hera grumbled as she led her out of the common room. “But they’re acting like I can’t even brush my own teeth anymore. It’s getting ridiculous.” She shook her head in frustration, but there was still fondness in her tone.
They passed a large orange painting on the bulkhead of what Omega at first mistook for the crest of the Rebellion. On closer examination, it appeared to be a stylised star bird, beak pointed skyward and wings spread wide in triumph. Sabine’s work? It was consistent with the artwork on her armour. As they walked, she spotted several other paintings scattered on doors or in corners, some fresh, others flaking with age. How long had the young Mandalorian been living here? Or Zeb, for that matter?
“So, how’ve you been?” Omega asked as they approached the door to what she assumed was the cockpit. “I mean, you’re a General of the Rebel Alliance! How’d that happen?”
Hera laughed, shaking her head with something like disbelief at her own position as she struggled to come up with an answer. “Now, that… where do I even begin? Well, I guess, after you left Ryloth…”
The woman’s brow pinched, and her tone sobered. “After you left Ryloth, my parents and I were on the run for a while, staying with anyone that would take us in while my father tried to organise with whoever was still loyal to him. Eventually, we found something a little more permanent with a friend of the family, and we were able to stay there for a year or so. My parents would have to leave sometimes to meet with others from Free Ryloth, normally just for a day or two. One time, they were betrayed. My mother died on that trip.” Her voice wavered just for a moment, emerald eyes falling to the floor, but she took a deep breath and continued.
“My father and I didn’t get along after that. He committed fully to his work, to the point he would disappear for days with no warning, but he wouldn’t let me do anything. I had to beg to even run basic errands; listening to my suggestions for Free Ryloth was right out of the question, even when his plans would doom everyone.” Her words became sharp, hints of her accent peaking through in her frustration. She sighed, letting go of the old anger. “After the Empire refused to leave, he became convinced that the only way Ryloth would ever be free was if we did it ourselves. To ask for outside help would be inviting in our future slavers. I said that was stupid.” She huffed, amused by her younger self’s brashness.
“I knew, I still know, the Empire can only defeated by all the galaxy working together. So I left home, swearing to myself I wouldn’t return until I’d proven him wrong, until Ryloth, and the rest of the galaxy, was free. That hasn’t happened yet, so,” she swung her arms out to the side, “Here I am.”
“It’ll happen,” Omega said assuredly. “Sooner rather than later, I think.”
Hera smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I hope so.”
The green-skinned woman pressed a button and the door whooshed open, revealing a spacious, trapezoidal cockpit. The last of the evening light trickled in from the hanger’s opening, gently washing the interior in pale golden hues. Four chairs faced the large transparisteel viewport, one instantly recognisable as Sabine’s from its paint job, but all looked well worn.
Hera, recovered from her earlier sombre moment, beckoned her forward to look at the control panel beside the pilot’s chair. Omega studied it a moment before recognising it as the same cloaking system the Marauder had had, the one she had excitedly shown off to the Hera when they’d first met. Not exactly the same; it was clear the woman had continued to make improve the tech over the years, but it seemed like it still maintained the same base functionality.
“It was the first modification I made to her, before I even officially owned her,” Hera proudly explained. “Turns out if comes in pretty handy when the Empire’s hunting you down.”
Omega laughed her agreement, moving to sit in the co-pilot’s seat. She paused as something like panic came over Hera’s features, but the woman quickly recovered and gestured for her to continue.
“How did you get her?” Omega asked, admiring the dashboard, where the impressive amount of extensive modifications became even more apparent. Hera told her of an older woman she’d befriended on Corellia, who’d taken her in as an apprentice mechanic after leaving Ryloth, and eventually given her the ship over a decade ago. That led to talking about how she had first joined the Rebellion, and Omega had told stories of her own then, of how she and her brothers had worked with Rex early on in the Rebellion, but it had only been a few months since she’d joined with the Rebellion proper.
It was only after half an hour of easy conversation that Omega noticed a tiny portrait on the dash, a palm-sized painting of a man on actual paper, tucked behind the yoke. He was smiling, dark hair pulled in a tail. She glanced at Hera, who had already followed her gaze.
“Kanan,” she said quietly, her voice strained. “He was my… my partner. He passed six months ago.”
Omega’s heart stung with the realisation. Her crewmates’ protectiveness, the lingering weight on the woman’s shoulders, the panic about the chair…
She reached out, taking the Twi’lek’s hand. “Hera, I’m so sorry.”
“Please don’t be,” she said softly, her gaze drifting down as she squeezed Omega’s hand. “I get enough of that from everyone else.”
Omega gently nodded, knowing the way that grief seemed to multiply when everyone treated you like a wounded animal. She could only imagine being in Hera’s position, trying to keep up appearances for all those under her command so soon after her partner’s loss, all while carrying his child.
She looked again to the little portrait. “What was he like?”
Hera paused a moment, closing her eyes, and Omega feared for a second she’d made things worse. Then, the woman laughed. “He was an idiot. A brave, selfless, brilliant idiot.”
She spoke of the cocky, gun-slinging flirt she’d first brought upon the Ghost 11 years ago, and the love shone in her eyes even as she told Omega how annoying he had been at first. She described how over time, he’d changed into something she’d actually found charming, and she had too, allowing herself to have such a relationship. Omega laughed as Hera told her of the various adventures, and misadventures, that they’d gotten up to in the early days of the Rebellion.
Long after the sky had gone dark, the dim lights of the hangar the only illumination left, Omega shared more of her own stories. This time, she pushed into those that were more difficult to tell. She spoke of Tech’s death, something that Hera, as someone who had met him, deserved to know. His goggles still rested on her dash as Kanan’s did Hera’s, a reminder of his lessons, but also his sacrifice. By the end, tears stained both of their cheeks, but they smiled nonetheless.
Grief followed them all, these days. Nearly every soul in the Alliance had lost someone dear to them to the Empire. For some, it gave them the strength to fight on, a desire to honour their memory by completing their mission. For others, revenge became their motivation. For Omega, her brothers' deaths reminded her, in some strange way, of just how good the galaxy could be. Her heart still ached when she thought of them, and she missed them more then anything, but even under the cruelty of Empire, they had been willing to give it all so that one day, others could be free.
Even under the most oppressive conditions, faced with their own deaths, their spirit and simple willingness do what was right could not be broken. And so long as there were others like them, neither would the Rebellion's.
The galaxy was in an ever-changing flux, and while Omega knew it her heart they would succeed eventually, there was no promise that she would be alive to see it. Every aspect of her life as it was was fleeting, delicate, able to be brutally ripped away with no warning, as so many of the places and people that now existed only in memory had been.
Omega looked once more to the woman sitting beside her, the Twi’lek’s eyes closed peacefully and head tipped back against the headrest. It was nice to know that not everyone from her past was gone.