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The whole sky shined too brightly after the long darkness underground. The caves had been close and cool, filled with a smelly dampness Hera couldn't get out of her nose even now they were headed back home. Father said everything was safe. Mother still watched the horizon nervously, changing her expression to a quick smile when she saw Hera watching.
"Hasn't this been an exciting adventure?" she asked, squeezing Hera's hand. "It will be nice to get home again."
Hera craned her neck, watching the sky. "Do you think there will be more ships coming?"
"I hope not," said Mother, and her eyes darted around them again. But the house was in view, and Father strode ahead of them, his large pack and Hera's small one both slung across his back as he opened the courtyard gates. Hera let go of her mother's hand and dashed to join him. Delight filled her as she spied the outline of a metal hull.
"A ship!" she cried, and instantly stopped as she saw the broken frame. The ship in the courtyard was a Republic craft, one shaped with a center body and two lekku trailing behind, but it was badly damaged. She stepped closer. While there was soot and debris, there was no fire. A cloud of bite-flies swarmed around the cockpit.
"Hera, stop!" her father snapped, in the same voice he'd used to order her underground right before the Separatist bombers attacked. She felt her feet stick into place as she turned to look obediently at her parents.
"Oh," said Mother, coming beside them.
"Go into the house," Father commanded.
"But I want to see the ship."
"Go inside, now!" He pointed, and Hera grudgingly made her way through the door, casting a longing look behind her.
Inside, the house was dark and dry, and the rooms smelled dusty and stale with long disuse. Hera thought for a moment then dashed to the second floor where she could peep out past the balcony onto the courtyard. Mother and Father stood beside the broken ship. They had pried the cockpit hatch open while the flies glittered around them. Hera kept herself hidden, but they paid her no attention, instead working together to remove something from the cockpit she couldn't see. Mother made a face, and Father gestured for her to go inside. Hera expected her to come join her, but after a minute, Mother was back outside carrying the white cloth they used to cover the table. Father had shifted the thing out of the ship, and together, they loaded their burden onto the white sheet, and wrapped it into a sad bundle.
A lot of people had died in the last few months, people she'd known and cared about. The bombs had come, and there hadn't been enough food. Her own clothes were looser on her body than they had been when they'd been forced to leave. Hera wasn't a baby. She knew what death was. But part of her was sad for this pilot she'd never met, who'd flown above a world to save them from the Separatists and who had died to free them.
The pilot's ghost was an awful, frightening thing. Hera crawled into her parents' bed with them like a little girl, trembling in terror.
"It's fine," Mother said, wrapping her into a hug.
"Go back to sleep," said Father. "There are no such things as ghosts."
Hera sniffed and nodded, snuggling into her mother's arms. She wasn't going to argue, but she knew he was wrong. The ghost moaned and clanked in the night right outside her window, but by day, there was nothing besides the empty ship, and the broken remains of the pilot's droid. Hera watched the wreck from her window, too frightened to investigate even by sunlight.
After the third night of falling asleep in her mother's arms, her father put his foot down. "You are too old for this, Hera. There is no ghost. Come with me." He took her hand and walked with her to the crashed ship, which had fascinated her and now terrified her. He showed her the broken struts and the crumpled panels. "See?"
"The ghost only comes at night!"
He shook his head. "If there were a ghost, it would not abide by a chronometer. You are sleeping in your own room tonight, and I will hear nothing more about this."
Hera trudged sadly back to her bedroom, dreading sunset and the night and the spirit that haunted the poor wreck.
She wound herself up with terrible fancies, until finally she could bear it no more. As soon as Mother tucked her in, Hera grabbed her little glowlamp, the same that had been her friend in the darkness in the deep caves, and the toy bat she used to play hailball. Stowing both into her carry-all, Hera climbed out her window to the balcony. She grabbed onto the handholds carefully, letting herself down to the ground. She was going to face this ghost.
The night grew darker, the only noises the distant calls of lonely animals far outside the walls and the hum of small moths against the lamps outside.
Hera yawned, the sleepy fingers of Mama Sand nudging her eyes closed.
The ghost moaned, and she jumped awake, panic sour in her mouth. The ghost rattled the old wreck, moaning too softly for anyone to hear who wasn't a little girl sleeping with an open window looking out. She could go inside to get Father and prove she was right.
She gripped her bat, and kept the glowlamp dark but ready. With quiet steps, she approached the wrecked Y-wing, listening as the ghost whined and muttered.
"You don't scare me!" she said, and flashed on the glowlamp.
She saw no ghosts. She saw the ruined frame of the Y-wing and the poor, broken droid in the astromech socket.
The droid's head rotated slowly to face her with one pale blue optical sensor illuminated by the little light. It moaned softly.
Hera lowered the glowlamp. "You're the ghost!"
The droid muttered something that Hera shouldn't have understood. She giggled and covered her mouth. "You shouldn't say that! That's rude." The droid said the swear again and Hera laughed. She felt silly for being scared of an old droid.
"Why didn't you tell us you were stuck?"
The droid beeped and muttered. Hera didn't catch all of it, something about battery discharge and damaged solar panels. The droid spent all day charging and all night failing to get himself loose. "Poor droid," she said, and she patted his orange top. "I'll help you."
She climbed up the ship, no longer afraid of anything. The astromech socket had been damaged in the crash, and she could see the crumpled metal that locked the droid into place. She thought and thought. "I can't pull you out right now, but I have a plan."
The droid beeped again as she climbed down. Worry filled his tone, begging her not to leave him alone. He sounded so sad. Hera found a spot on the ground and rested her back against the ship. "I'll stay right here, okay?"
The droid muttered again, appeased.
She rubbed her hand against the metal frame of the ship. "Did you fly a lot? What was it like?"
The droid swore at her again. Then her told her the story of his last flight, and she listened until she fell asleep.
Hera had watched the workers in the cave repair the equipment they used to keep the air flowing, and the comms active. She had paid attention to the tools they'd used, and more than one had been happy to answer curious questions from Syndulla's daughter, perhaps hoping to impress her father. In their home workshop, Mother and Father owned some of the same tools, and these were what she rummaged through now until she found what she needed.
"Hera, dear," said Mother. "What are you doing?"
"I'm going to go play by the ship."
Mother frowned. "I'm glad you're being so brave, but be careful. It could be dangerous."
"I'll be careful. I promise." She scurried out, keeping her prizes hidden. Outside, the dry breeze whispered through the courtyard, carrying with it the distant scent of a forest Hera remembered passing through on their journey into hiding. Beyond the high wall was adventure and new sights. Here inside was a ship, and a friend who was stuck inside it. She climbed the frame of the ship. "Hello," she said to the droid. It didn't move.
No power, she thought, and she climbed around until she located the solar panel. The panel was cracked and tilted, but with enough effort, she moved the arm back into position and let the shattered face peer up at the bright sun.
Then she got to work. The metal was bent out of place. She pried loose what she could, then used the metal saw as carefully as she could to remove the rest. Small pieces broke free. One flew and sliced a tiny scratch along her arm, which hurt and made her gasp. She didn't stop, though, and after what felt like hours but probably wasn't so long at all, she cut the final piece away from the droid.
"There you go."
The droid's head turned slowly. He beeped at her with a question.
"You're free. You can get out now."
The droid wiggled, rattling the socket. Then he told her to get back. Hera jumped down and watched as the droid lit a rocket booster and rose out of the ship. His top was orange but his bottom half was sooty and singed. Hera guessed he'd tried to rocket out before. He did a quick loop before dropping to the ground in front of her with a happy set of beeps.
One of his legs crumbled as he rested his weight on it, and he toppled over with a long stream of swears.
"Are you okay?" she asked, but the answer was obvious. His ambulatory strut had been damaged in the crash or in his earlier attempts to get free. He swore at her again.
"You are very rude," Hera said, bending over to help him. She couldn't lift him at all, and stopped, thinking. "I'm going to get something to move you."
The droid said something that sounded like, "Whatever."
Hera took the tools back and found the old wheeled sled she used to play with when she'd been little. She stopped for a moment, listening to the wheels squeak. She used to play with the sled with her brother. A sudden pressure moved through her chest, and she took a gulp of air before yanking hard on the handle, tugging the sled behind her.
"Here," she said, and helped the droid onto the sled. A couple of tears fell from her eyes and she rubbed them away angrily.
The droid whistled at her curiously.
"It's nothing," she said, just as Mother always said when Hera caught her staring with a sad face. "Come on." With a huff and a pull, she got the wheels into motion, and brought the droid into the house. She was almost to the door to her room when she heard a gasp.
"Hera Syndulla, what are you doing?"
She turned. Father stared at her, his mouth open.
"He was stuck in the ship. I thought he was a ghost, but he's just a droid." The droid beeped, and she translated. "His name is C1-10P." Another beep. "His pilot called him Chopper."
Father pointed. "It is filthy. Get it out of the house."
Hera moved to stand in front of Chopper. "He's hurt. I'm going to fix him."
Father made an annoyed sound in his throat. "You don't know the first thing about fixing an old droid. You should sell it to the scrappers and be done."
"No," she said, and pulled the sled into her room.
Her father stood in her doorway. "I won't force you to get rid of that garbage pile, but this is folly, daughter."
"I like him," she said, refusing to look at Father.
"Don't make a mess," he said, and left them.
Hera sighed. Then she helped Chopper out of the sled, leaning him against a shelf so he could stand near the window and get some light. His leg was broken but she thought with enough tools and glue, she might be able to put it back together, and if not, there was a market in the city that sold all sorts of interesting things. Maybe they would have a droid's leg, or maybe they could get one in when normal shipments started coming through again. Her eyes glanced at a pretty gemstone by her bed, a gift from one of her father's friends hoping to impress him. It looked expensive. Not enough to buy food, not when the supplies were all gone, but maybe enough to buy a leg.
"My name's Hera," she said, and patted him. He whistled. "Nice to meet you, too."
She examined the fractured strut. As she poked him, Chopper tilted and fell over again, swearing even louder.
"You need to watch your language," said Hera, helping him back up "I'm not supposed to know what that word even means."
Chopper said it again, and she grinned.
Chopper had never liked spending more time with organics than necessary. He'd flown with plenty of pilots but for some reason, none of them ever requested him for subsequent missions, except for his most recent pilot. The last pilot had shared a face with all his other previous assignments, but his own name had a "10" in it, and he'd grinned widely when he'd met Chopper. "You and I are going to be friends," said CT-3410. Chopper had responded by zapping him on the knee, which usually got him reassigned sooner rather than later, but CT-3410 had only laughed and patted him. "I like this one."
Chopper had flown five missions with him, wary but thawing to the clone's broad sense of humor, waiting for another reassignment and hoping it didn't come. The last mission ended with a Separatist torpedo and a wild, uncontrolled landing as CT-3410 swore the air blue and tried to control the crash.
And now there was the girl. Chopper's programming was dedicating to flying and maintaining starships, not navigating the quirky questions of adolescent Twi'leks. He told Hera the GAR would be reclaiming him soon, and she should see to it that he had two working ambulatory struts. She understood some of what he said, and understood more as time passed. The Republic had been and gone, she told him, taking poor CT-3410 back to Kamino one last time.
"They left me?" he asked, or tried to, watching her confused expression until an angry pathway flipped in his brain. He grumbled and let her get back to work. He had more damage than he liked to consider, and his sole mechanic was a child using him as her first engineering project. He had to teach her as she went. She was a youth, and youths were famous for shifting their attention from target to target. He feared she would lose interest before he was repaired, and he would be stuck here in this child's bedroom, tipped to one side and left to rust until the end of his battery life.
"I got it," said Hera cheerfully, coming into her room with a large package under her arm. "Look!" She unwrapped her bundle and revealed a previously-used ambulatory strut in the wrong color scheme and style.
Chopper complained it wasn't the same as the one he was limping along on, which she'd patched with a lot of sticky glue. He tried rolling forward on his broken leg, and teetered ominously even across the span of Hera's bedroom. He grumbled again and agreed to try. Between her schoolwork and chores, Hera spent four days before she could get his new strut attached and fully operational.
"What do you think?" she asked, as Chopper took a test run around the room. His sensors weren't used to the differing circuitry from this new strut. He calculated a 99.9% chance of the leg being a part from some other poor droid who'd gotten shot down over this stupid little planet. But it would do.
He beeped a reluctant thanks.
"You're welcome."
Now that he was mobile again, Chopper had the run of the house. He zoomed through the corridors, daring himself with new speed records and running into the knees of the larger organic inhabitants.
"Hera!" said the tall female Twi'lek, rubbing her shin. "Your robot is loose again!"
"He's a droid," said Hera.
"He is a menace," said the tall male. "He needs to stay in your room."
"He'll be good! Won't you, Chop?"
Chopper tweeted that he would try to be good, while the two adults stared at him in confusion.
"He says yes," Hera translated.
"You are spending too much time with that thing," said the adult male.
The adult female smiled. "Cham, it's not so bad. It's nice that Hera has a friend. She does need to keep a better eye on him, though."
Chopper said he would behave and Hera nodded and promised to watch him closely.
Hera was an obedient child. She watched Chopper help her break into the storage room with the good tools. She watched him pick the lock to the fun hideaway in the basement. She watched him reprogram the food orders so extra meilooruns would be delivered with the regular supplies. She watched him as they wandered during the hot, endless days when she had no schoolwork, and could look for the remains of other wrecked ships to scavenge and tinker with.
Chopper decided she wasn't so bad of a companion after all.
More Twi'leks began to spend time at the house. Most were adults but there were some children as well, moving in and out, sometimes piling into the room with Hera at night to sleep while their parents stayed up into the wee hours plotting. Chopper worried she would lose interest in him now that she had peers to interact with, but every night, no matter what she'd been doing, she patted him on the top of his chassis and plugged him into his charging dock beside her bed.
His mood improved when Hera's parents enlisted him to help, first around the house as allies came and went, then with moving weapons and plans safely secreted inside his storage compartment as he rolled past white-armored soldiers. The first time he saw one, his mental processes flipped into an elated pathway, happy to see a clone trooper again, but his optical sensors quickly updated their data. These were not clones. His old companion CT-3410 was long gone, and these were not his pilot's brothers. These were the occupying forces that Hera's family was operating against.
He didn't understand everything that was going on, and the logical conclusion was that his data was being filtered through an adolescent who was more interested in the stormtroopers' shuttles and fighters than in the political ramifications of their presence. Still, he didn't like them. When the opportunity allowed, he charged his electroprod and shocked them as he rolled by.
His internal chronometer had been damaged in the crash, and malfunctioned constantly, but he noted the passage of time by how Hera's limbs grew, first gangling then graceful, and how the high piping of her vocalizations dropped into a more somber tone. She was taller now than she'd been when they'd met. She was still happy to sneak off with him and scour the landscape for scraps, although they'd long since picked over the remnants from the first war, and this second conflict involved fewer spacecraft and more intimidation and subjugation of the locals.
Hera paid more attention to her parents' words these days, and she spent almost as much time wiring incendiary devices and untraceable communicators as she did on her more important task of making sure Chopper had his regular maintenance. On the bright side, she let him use the devices to blow up Imperial targets in the city, zipping through the streets unnoticed as he planted them around.
She had also discovered how much she liked 'borrowing' the Imperials' speederbikes and shuttles, any time she could get her hands on one during a mission. Chopper followed along when he could, holding on for his existence as she learned how to manipulate the controls the hard way. Other times he watched from the ground as she learned to dip and loop in her latest stolen vehicle before she crashed it intentionally. One less vehicle for the Empire, she always said, as her father chided her for being reckless.
"Ryloth will need you to lead, Daughter. You must think to our future." Chopper could recite Cham's lecture word for word, which only got him scowled at and kicked when he did so within Cham's hearing.
"We can't just focus on Ryloth," she said in her room at night, no one listening except Chopper. "The Empire is too big. We need to take it down everywhere or the Emperor will just send more troops here."
Chopper dozed in his charger, beeping a lazy agreement.
He was on a mission of his own, ordered to roll through the city and record what he could, then report back. His sensors picked up a skirmish five streets away. Another run-in between the growing resistance and the stormtroopers, he deduced, and opted to continue his mission. If he wasn't blowing something up, he wasn't interested.
The order came through to return to base. Chopper turned and headed back home, keeping his sensors active. He arrived home to chaos. Curious, he pushed himself through the crowd in the courtyard. Hera ran from inside the house, but not towards him.
"Mother?"
Her father turned, and grunted as Chopper hit his legs. "Hera, get in the house," he said, his voice ragged and weary.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Get in the house right now!" He kicked Chopper. "And take this junk pile with you!"
Hera stood, watching, then turned back towards the doors. Chopper followed her inside, noting the heavy way she breathed, like she was emotionally compromised. "Go upstairs," she told him. Then she hurried to the other exit to let herself back outside.
Chopper stood in the entryway. He didn't like not knowing what was happening, but Hera had given him an order and his protocols had started recognizing her as his owner. He muttered and went to the lift, and waited in her bedroom. He rerouted conduits in his own matrix, searching for workarounds until at last he found his self-preservation subroutine. Yes. It was hazardous to his existence to take orders from an emotional teenager, therefore in the future he could shunt orders through this pathway and only follow those that were beneficial to himself, either in direct protection of his own physical well-being, or if he felt like it at the time.
Hours later, the door opened. Hera entered her room with a slow step, and shut the door behind herself. She sat on the edge of her bed. Chopper rolled over to her.
"What's going on?" he asked her. He was about to ask her a second time, thinking she hadn't understood his blurt, when she reached over and wrapped her arms around him. She started to sob.
Chopper didn't understand, but he stayed beside her, and he hummed softly at her, and he let her cry.
Hera was sixteen when she fell in love. She and Chop were in Lessu, officially reconnoitering but Hera could do that in her sleep. She spent her time browsing the rummage stalls and the salvage carts, always on the lookout for parts to fix up her friend. Her favorite salvage hauler had gotten in a new load, and while she kept her ears open for the brewing Imperial trouble she was in town to observe, she poked through the newer parts with interest.
"Got something you might like," said the hauler. Wary, Hera followed him to the back where he kept the larger junk he passed off to the less discerning buyers.
"I'm not really…." she said, and stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. Chopper tapped her leg, but she ignored him.
"Thought you might be interested," said the hauler, but she ignored him too, making her way to the hollowed-out frame of the VCX-100. She took in the gaps: missing panels, busted struts, weaponry too damaged even for the scrappers to take. He saw her face and said, "The regulator's been scavenged. Don't ask me about the condition of the manifold because you don't want to know. The hyperdrive needs some work but it's functional. I was going to sell everything for parts."
She reached the ship, touching the hull with awed fingers, her mind racing with repairs, rework, and costs. Chopper whistled behind her, asking what she was thinking.
"How long do you think it would take us?" she asked.
The hauler said, "What with everything she needs?"
"I wasn't asking you. Chop?"
Chopper whirred, thinking. A year, he told her. More. They'd never find all the parts on Ryloth. He could do it faster with her help, he said, though she suspected it would be the other way around. She heard his processors speeding up in poorly-hidden excitement. Chopper was an astromech. He was born to fly. She knew the feeling.
"How much?" she asked, and while she knew she'd talk him down to a fair price, she also knew she'd pay whatever it took.
Chopper beeped at her, asking if they finally had a ship of their own. "Yeah," she said to him, and gave an amused look at her best friend. "I already know the perfect name."
Building the ship was rough. Hera researched what she could about the base model of a VCX-100, but at night her dreams were filled with components, and thruster improvements, and more. She told Chopper what she wanted, and he figured out what they needed to get to make it happen. She spent hours each day replacing broken conduits while he dug into the dormant AI's core programs. The ship was nearly spaceworthy, if still far from the final form it bore behind her eyelids, when she spent her final argument with her father, and stormed out with Chopper rolling behind her.
"He just doesn't see," she told him over and over, while Chopper beeped in friendly agreement. Her father had wanted nothing to do with him for years, regularly threatening to have Chopper melted down whenever he remembered Chop even existed.
The cabin she'd decided for her own wasn't as comfortable as her room, but it was hers. The dim lighting was her idea, not a decorating choice made by an ancestor long ago. The other cabins were free for storage.
Another week would be enough, she thought, looking around. Then they could leave Ryloth and go out into the galaxy. She'd need to pick up work to earn enough credits to buy the parts she wanted to upgrade, and once she had her ship fixed up the way she needed, then the Empire could watch out. She'd be coming.
"Yes, you can have your own cabin if you want," she told Chop as they settled in for the night.
He twisted his head to look at the empty rooms, then he rolled into her cabin and asked for his charging jack.
"You sure, buddy?"
He told her he always charged in her room. They both rested better that way. As a warm smile slid over her face, he added that if he needed something in the middle of her sleep cycle, she was easier to wake up when she was right there and could deal with it.
"That's the Chop I know," she said, and fixed up his jack. When she crawled into her bunk, she watched him in the dimness. "I never asked. Did you want to come with me?"
Already in low power mode, Chopper made an affirmative whir, and said of course he would always go with her. Hera was his pilot.
"You need to stay on the ship," she told him. "Gorse is a mudhole. Your wheels will get bogged down."
Chopper could see her point. Outside, the ground was damp, bubbling up with unspeakable fluids at every groundquake.
"You can work on rewiring the front blaster cannon," she told him. "The retort is getting flaky again."
He watched her go, made a vague level of effort on the cannon, and gave up, going off to interface with the dejarik table for a while. He liked the missions when he could attack stormtroopers, but Hera was into espionage right now and scolded Chopper when he left bodies behind for her to clean up.
Her mission took a few days, as days were counted on the ship rather than this ever-nighted planet. They transported some Sullustan woman to another planet while Chopper was charging. When he woke from the cycle, he wondered if Hera had made him plug in on purpose. She spent a few more days on world, and when it was time to leave, some human boarded the Ghost with Hera. Chopper didn't notice until they were in orbit, and naturally, he shocked the interloper as soon as he saw him.
"Quit it," Hera said as her new friend rubbed his leg and swore. "Kanan will be joining the crew for a while. Kanan, this is Chopper."
"Hi," said the human in a grouchy voice. Chopper waved him off and rolled away. Whatever. The human would be gone soon enough.
The human didn't leave. Worse, sometimes Chopper had to charge in a different cabin. This was intolerable. He started working on the controls to the airlocks, until Hera cornered him in the cockpit and informed him in no uncertain terms that if Chopper "accidentally" spaced Kanan or anyone else she brought on board, he would find himself on the other side of the same airlock.
Chopper yelled back at her and told he if she wanted to replace him, she could try. He was the only one would could fix this hodgepodge of a ship they'd built, and she knew it. The argument went on for over an hour, and ended with Hera sitting on the deck with her arm slung around him.
"I'm not replacing you, buddy," she said, resting her head against him. "You are my best friend. But if I'm going to fight the Empire, I need more help. We need a crew. Kanan is staying and we're probably going to pick up more crew. You're going to have to adjust to having people around. It's the only way this will work."
Unhappily, he agreed.
"How about I give you an oil bath later. Would you like that?"
He beeped noncommittally.
"I'll even get the detailing brush out."
Chopper asked if he could electroshock Kanan again.
"I won't stop you, but you do know he could crush your chassis with the Force, right?"
Chopper muttered again. The detailing brush would have to do.
Zeb didn't have the Force. He could shock the big Lasat whenever he wanted so long as he managed to roll away before Zeb swatted him.
Sabine didn't have the Force but she did have spray paint and grenades. She threatened to paint him pink and blow him up if he ever tried shocking her again. Chopper decided he liked her.
Jacen was sixteen when he left. Hera told him with her words that she was proud of him, that she'd support whatever decision he made for his path, but Chopper could tell she was worried. She'd worry about her son no matter what life he chose, whether he followed in her footsteps and became an ace pilot for the New Republic, or if he wanted to follow his father's path and attune himself to the Force. She'd worry if he decided to become a fry cook on Coruscant. Chopper knew her well enough to know she wouldn't stand in his way, but she'd be there with open arms whenever he wanted to come back for a visit.
"I'll send holos every week," he promised, hugging her again. Then he bent down to Chopper. "And don't think I'll forget you, either, buddy. We're still playing that game. I haven't surrendered yet."
Chopper beeped that he'd won already, and Jacen knew it, and he might as well cede before he was fifty light years away.
"Nope. You watch. I'll figure out a move to win."
Chopper blurped at him, then whirred softly as Jacen hugged him, too.
The goodbyes went on a little longer, but his old chronometer was acting up again and the next thing he knew, Jacen was on his transport, and Hera and Chopper were on the Ghost getting ready for a hyperspace jump.
Hera's hands paused on the controls. Chopper asked her what she was waiting for.
"I just need a minute." She sat back, watching the transport lumber past before it winked into hyperspace and was gone. Her gaze held the spot where it had vanished. Chopper couldn't see anything there except the stars and the darkness between them, but he hadn't needed his optical receptors to see Hera in a long, long time.
He rolled next to her. Part of him, the fiendish part that growled and poked and annoyed his friends, that part wanted him to say something like all organics were the same and knowing her, she'd pick up another one soon enough, she'd hardly notice the kid was even gone. Chopper shunted that subroutine into a folder, and marked it for later. With his vocalizer, he told her Jacen would be all right. They'd given him the best possible start to his life, and he was pretty bright for someone whose brain wasn't cybernetic. He would do fine.
"I know," she said, her eyes watching the empty spot one last moment. "But I'm going to miss having him around."
The fiendish part piped up in his brain, and Chopper shoved it away again. Instead, he stayed beside Hera, humming gently, giving her space and time and his everlasting companionship until she finally activated the hyperdrive and sent them on their way to their next mission together.