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Omega gives the port technician an enthusiast thumbs up when they finish jointly wrangling the fuel hose onto her ship. It’s not usually a two-person job, but the Rodian offers her a reluctant explanation about the settlement and its ageing facilities.
“S’was originally a fishin’ town out here. Tourist-run, seasonal, y’know. Then the old Republic set up during the war. Including these fuelin’ stations.”
He gives the sluggish hose a despondent look. It is audibly sputtering fuel into Omega’s ship. The whine of the pump’s motor is louder again. But despite the age of the equipment, the fuel gauge rises slowly but surely. Its benefits to the town are also obvious; when the Republic cleared out, the fishing town suddenly became a rural fuel port, and could support a full-time economy.
“Some of the demountables too,” the Rodian adds, nodding out to the broader town.
The port sits on the beach, then inland, buildings sprawl up into a marshy forest. Some float on the interwoven waters of the marsh. Some sit on stilts. Some still bear the worn symbols of the Republic. It doesn't matter to this town. Clearly, they are grateful for Omega’s commerce, and grateful to remain out of the chaos of the galaxy.
“There’s not much left besides wha’ you see.” He gives Omega a steeled look, and in the star-addled appearance of his eyes, she can see why there’s not much left. “We lead quiet lives here. We don’t want no trouble. Not from pirates, not from you rebellious sorts, and not from the Empire.”
“I’m just passing through,” Omega returns. “Thanks for the fuel.” She hands him an extra few credits for the trouble, both for the hose, and for her sudden appearance on their peaceful planet.
“It’ll be short on the hour, miss. You stay out of trouble now.”
Not intending to refuel before she reached Pabu doesn’t also mean Omega can’t enjoy her spontaneous stopover here. The Rebellion has taken her all over the galaxy, and before that, she saw countless planets onboard Havoc Marauder with her brothers. However, she doesn’t consider herself travelled, but more ‘prepared’ and also ‘able to easily slip into a crowd’. The beach-side marsh makes for an interesting crowd at that. Murmurs in the market mention a larger settlement further towards the equator, whereas this inconspicuous town sits southward and in the planet’s tropical band. There are also humans intermingled throughout the town, meaning it isn’t hard for Omega to blend in. She buys a few fresh meilooruns for Wrecker, a collection of sea-themed hair scrunchies for Hunter, and a particularly ugly turtleduck-themed sweater for Crosshair. The locals are, again, grateful for Omega’s credits, and don’t mind her presence in the market square. A few of them even direct Omega down to the beachfront, where a few more stalls sit on the shores, selling fresh fish and sea plants.
So she wanders down there with another half an hour count left on the old fuel pump at the port. The old machine keeps ticking over loudly, like a clock.
The merchant stalls on the beach are not as populated with produce nor people, but they do stretch out onto an idyllic pier. The boardwalk clearly predates the Republic’s establishment here. There are some sunken off walks that haven’t been repaired, but the main stretch still stands, and it takes Omega out a good distance into the water.
There, the crashing waves remind her of home.
The scent of seaspray. The wind tugging at her hair. The sound of her brothers’ voices on the air.
She can almost substitute the fishermen on the pier for them. If she closes her eyes and reaches out.
“... put it on the fly reel this way, yes.”
The wind whistles a comforting tune. Old voices float in, flirting with Omega’s subconscious, and the dry corners of her eyes.
“It is more accurate than a spin reel. Hm, granted, we would usually wade out. The conditions are not suitable today. There is a storm coming in. Do you see?”
Opening her eyes, Omega indeed sees the storm. It is not the only storm she is currently weathering. She can almost feel the owner of the voice beside her as he points out the specific shades of the clouds, and how the wind changes around them. Studying the conditions is an important part of flying, as a pilot does not always fly in the vacuum of space. But as her reminiscing rumbles away with the distant thunder, and away with the breeze, the gentle lit of Tech’s voice does not stop.
“But we can still practise with the flying reel today. Remember, we will not be as accurate with the extra height of the pier. You ought to stand right about… hm… here. Yes, yes. Careful now. You are near the edge.”
His voice is…
Belonging to an older fisherman on the walks of the pier. He is helping a young child stand on the wooden railing, to cast a line out into the vast ocean below. He steps backwards when the cord is cast and his handiwork is done. His glasses catch the shoals of light from the retreating sun. He pushes them up his nose with his index finger. He is smiling.
Then, he sees Omega staring.
Omega’s breath catches. Her eyes are already wide. They darken like the clouds as they prepare to break their banks.
“T… Tech?”
And he looks right through her.
No, no, Omega has finally lost it. She has been flying for hours. She happened upon this small port by sheer chance – and luck. Her fuel gauge has been on the fritz since Scarif, after she took fire while defending the Ghost. The gauge simply chose today to act up again; an incorrect reading meant Omega couldn’t make the final jump to Pabu out of this tiny system. But that problem is being solved by the fuel pump ticking away on the shore.
This problem… is all in Omega’s head.
Isn’t it?
And yet she can’t stop staring. She can’t stop mapping the likely pattern of his ageing, just like the sketches Hunter makes of all six of them. She can’t not match her eye colour and his. She can’t ignore the scars that ghost around the edges of his eyes. She can’t ignore the grey hairs lingering in his long brown hair, and in his facial hair.
She can’t stop hearing his voice again.
“Hm,” the fisherman says. He looks at Omega for a moment longer, then he turns back towards the child. His hands are warm and familiar on their back, steadying them on the railing. “Is that a catch you have? Already?” He smiles warmly again and helps them steady the fly fishing rod. “You are going to put me out of a job already, young Marian.”
Yeah, Omega has definitely lost it.
She turns back out towards the ocean and the incoming storm. It is no longer as comforting. The wind turns from the shore’s caress to the angry tendrils of a cloudy abyss. Droplets of moisture start to spurn her.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Another voice tugs Omega away from said abyss. She shakes it all off before she turns around again, this time, to meet a woman’s gaze. The fly fisherman is still helping the child nearby, but this new arrival has stepped in between them. Omega doesn’t recall the woman’s presence on the boardwalk when she first walked across it, nor in the various market stalls she visited throughout the town.
Perhaps Omega has been stuck for longer than she thought.
“Are you alright?” the woman asks her.
She rests her hand on her bicep, like half of a comforting hug. Then, she careens sideways with the stormy breeze. She collects Omega’s wandering gaze when it drifts back towards the fly fisherman.
“I… yes,” replies Omega. She reaffirms her facial expression from its uncertainty, this time, giving a small nod. She adds, “I’m just passing through. Refuelling.” She points vaguely towards the shore, where the fuel pump will be ticking away somewhere, still counting down.
The other woman nods, but the weight of her movements holds unspoken words. It’s in how she lingers on the lines of Omega’s face, the colour of her eyes, and the familiar lit of her voice.
They stare at one another like how the incoming storm greets the sky.
Then the woman says, “You know my husband.”
Omega’s mouth dries. Her lips part. Her eyes widen. Her heart stops.
“Your… your husband?” whispers Omega.
Her husband, who is speaking again. Quietly, gently. With nurture and good nature. He pats the child’s – his child’s? – back and helps them down from the pier’s railing. His voice carries on the wind, matching its low tune, as it teases the incoming storm.
“You did well. Thanks to my excellent instruction, naturally.”
Stars.
It can’t be.
“We should talk inside,” offers the woman, in lieu. “There’s a storm coming. And you…” Her eyes are equally as heavy as her movements. They speak of sadness that is not hers. She notes, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have,” Omega replies in a whisper.
The woman, the wife, turns to leave. But Omega can’t overcome the sudden inertia that has taken her. Her feet are rooted to the gangplanks. Her eyes can’t swim away from the fly fisherman as he packs down his gear. The child accompanying him is about twelve years old and they have grown to the height of the fisherman’s chest. It even rests there as the two of them embrace in a hug; protection from the wind and the droplets of rain that have started to descend.
It… It can’t be.
The fly fisherman and his child don’t even spare Omega a second glance. They do, however, careen in next to the woman as they leave. They share a few words. The woman smiles whimsically. The child takes the fisherman’s hand. The fisherman leans over and kisses the woman on the cheek. The woman glances back over her shoulder at Omega.
It all seems painfully familiar. Particularly with the memory of Hunter’s voice on the wind: What do you say, kid? You wanna come with us?
Omega stares at their retreating backs. Her heart struggles to start beating again. Her mind reels.
It can’t be.
This planet is so far removed from changes in galactic stature. It doesn’t even have an official name in Omega’s star charts, instead, it is simply designated as PAL-0572. It had vague mentions of a fuel station that wasn’t in its capital – for covert’s sake – so she beelined here before making the final hyperspace jump to Pabu.
It’s nowhere near Eriadu.
And it isn’t that they didn’t go back. They did. They found nothing there. They assumed that Tantiss was to blame. They assumed that everything was lost there – like Echo’s kit, and like Crosshair’s hand.
They had to come to peace with the fact he would never be buried.
Thunder rumbles overhead suddenly.
The sound startles Omega’s feet off the boardwalk, out of the rain, and back towards the shore. On it, the fuel pump continues ticking over. On it, the town continues about its day, unconcerned, as they hunker down for the weather. On it, the fly fisherman, the woman, and the child careen into one of the old demountables in the marshy town.
This particular demountable has been well-maintained over the years. There is a fresh coat of paint on it compared to the old Republic buildings around the refuelling port. The front balcony has planter boxes full of fruits, vegetables, and flowers. There is a workshop nearby that looks to have been bolted onto the structure. Similar wood to that of the pier makes a cosy workspace next to the garden beds. A trail of mechanical parts and unfinished projects cascades out of it, intermingling with the serenity of the planter garden. A tank collects the rainwater underneath one of the windows, which is adorned with checkered curtains. Wind chimes hang from the balcony’s ceiling and hum a tune that matches the wind’s song.
The door is open.
At Omega’s approach, the woman – the wife – steps outside. She is still hugging herself; one hand is folded onto her opposite elbow in the spitting image of uncertainty.
She shuts the door behind her. For now.
“I need to know, first,” the woman says. Her eyes cast over the life she has here. The garden. The cosy and messy workshop. The water tank and the wind chimes. The Republic insignia that has been painted over. “Are you going to take him away from us?”
“What?”
Omega’s mouth is still dry. It makes her question sound raw. She stands at the base of the steps up to the balcony; looking up at this woman.
“You know him,” the wife repeats. “From before.”
“From… before,” echoes Omega.
It can’t be.
“I knew it would happen eventually,” she continues. “Theodore, he… he doesn’t always remember. But I knew this was inevitable. If it wasn’t the pirates again, it would be some traveller who recognised him.”
Omega’s eyes slide closed. She begs herself to keep up. To think. Yet, still, she reels. Her heart struggles exactly the same. She struggles to know what to say. She struggles to even answer the initial question.
She struggles to consider that it is.
However, her strife does not go unnoticed. The wife descends the stairs slowly, then lays a hand on Omega’s shoulder. Not in uncertainty. No, in sympathy.
“You didn’t know.”
Omega shakes her head wordlessly. She doesn’t trust her voice. She doesn’t trust her eyes, either, especially as the rain wanders in from across the sea.
The wife coaxes her up onto the balcony. But not before saying, “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t know, either. I didn’t know if you knew. I thought, a man as magnificent as him, somebody would be out there looking for him.”
It… It is.
It is.
It is.
Stars.
“We… We looked, we–” Omega’s hand flies to her mouth. Her throat seizes her. The wife’s hand tightens on her shoulder and guides her up the stairs. “Sorry,” Omega apologises. She trips on the steps. The wife steadies her. “Sorry,” Omega says again.
“Don’t be. Come. Let’s get you some tea.”
Omega can do nothing but follow her lead. They transition from the open air of the seaside, marshy town, and into the warm hearth of home. Omega still doesn’t trust herself, but in amongst the emotions raging through her, she catches glimpses. A workbench in organised disarray. A messy collection of children’s toys. Drawings pinned to the conservator. Meilroons. Hair scrunchies. A turtleduck-themed sweater.
The wife sits Omega down at the kitchen table. She presses a warm mug of tea into her hands. Omega has never held onto anything tighter in her life – with perhaps one or two exceptions.
Then, again, they stare at each other. Sky to storm. Waves to shore. Old to new.
Omega swallows thickly. She croaks out, “What… what’s your name?”
The wife sits opposite Omega with her own cup of tea. She smiles. She has tears in her eyes. She’s a reflection of Omega exactly the same.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I’m Omega.”
“Kaisa.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a cartographer. Not for star charts, more organic terrain, but I’ve done work as we’ve needed it.”
“I’m… a… a pilot.”
Noise clutters from upstairs, pulling Omega’s eyes away from Kaisa and the tea. She sucks in a breath, sniffles, then takes a quiet sip. The warmth is comforting and agreeable.
Kaisa offers an explanation, paired with another cluttering sound, “He’s probably chasing the kids around for a shower. Sorry. They’ll settle.”
“Kids,” repeats Omega. “Plural.”
“Mmm.” Kaisa sips her own tea. “Feean is our eldest, they’re thirteen. Marian is eleven.”
“So you’ve been together…”
“Fifteen years, this year.”
“And you met…”
Kaisa purses her lips, giving a warm yet quiet sigh. Her eyes have not dried, nor has the rain outside let up. Omega watches her carefully, and in turn, Kaisa continues marrying up Omega’s appearances to her husband’s.
“To preface,” Kaisa begins, “our fifteen years have been uneventful otherwise, but…”
“I’m sure they told you at the port, but this used to be a seasonal town. It was, until the Republic moved in during the old war. They used the bay to refuel their ships. Then they left it all here when they moved on. And these things, well, they’re useful. For pirates, especially, and for salvagers. It’s older technology. It’s not common these days, so sometimes, we have groups show up demanding what was left behind. There isn’t much, there never really was, but that didn’t always stop them.
“We’re simple people, here. We can defend ourselves, if we have to, but not to any large scale. And pirates can be vicious. I’m sure you know. Then there was this particular band, fifteen years ago. They pillaged here. They were convinced we were hiding something here. They pillaged for so long that more pirates came, but Theodore’s band, they helped us. They drove them off. They helped protect us.
“And nobody expected them to stay, but I suppose after helping us, nobody minded. Plus, they wanted to. We’re mostly uncharted and we’re out of the way, out here. They could come back to refuel. It was safe for them here. Then Theo, he… he stayed, too.
“He was only new to this band. They helped him out of a bind, then he helped them take their work away from the Empire’s hands. But he had… um, not problems, but he wasn’t always himself. It was like lapses in memory, or he would shake. He would freeze. Not exactly ideal for a pirate’s life, but still, he helped them. And as I got to know him better, I realised, well, it was actually a big lapse in memory. He didn’t know where came from. He barely could remember how he met the men that he saved us with. And he… he told me once that he didn’t even remember why he helped them, only that he did.
“I encouraged him to stay here. At least while he was figuring it out. I said it couldn’t possibly be safe running around the galaxy when you didn’t even know who you were. And then he just… he stayed. He knew that answers were out there, but the longer he stayed, the harder it became to look. He was happy. We were happy.
“Then we had Feean and… and it just became real. For both of us. I felt guilty. I–I still do, that I robbed him from someone. From you.
“But he said that nobody came looking, either. That this was all he had.
“And we were happy. We are happy.
“We have vows we’re renewing next month, up in the capital. My family will be there. The band is flying in especially for him. Then Marian turns twelve the week after.
“It’s like I blinked and I gained this wonderful man in my life. I’m sure I don’t need to explain him to you. Even if he doesn’t remember, what’s in his heart is still the same. I–I remember in the raids, he was magnificent. I’ve never seen a man fight like that. He protected us. Without him, even with the band, none of us would be here. He’s the smartest and bravest man I’ve ever met. He’s fierce. He’s gentle. He’s so funny. His sense of humour is very dry, but he never fails to make me laugh. He’s an amazing father.
“I love him. All of us do.
“And looking at you, Omega…”
Kaisa reaches out and takes Omega’s hand. She squeezes tight. There are tears rolling both of their cheeks.
“I know he loves you so much.”
Omega’s other hand flies to her mouth again. She doesn’t move to wipe away her tears, instead, she cries into her hand. Her head bows under the weight of the storm.
“And I’m so sorry,” adds Kaisa. Her voice has grown hoarse; whether or not it’s from her story doesn’t matter. “I was… well, I definitely wasn’t prepared to see you on the pier. I never thought I’d meet you. So I never figured out what I would say. I… I still don’t know what to say. I’m just… I’m so sorry, Omega.”
There’s so much Omega wants to ask, now that she understands.
But Omega can’t stop crying.
Kaisa’s lips purse again, this time into a wet smile. She murmurs that it’s okay, and for Omega to take her time. She keeps squeezing Omega’s hand. She keeps crying herself.
When Omega calms down somewhat, it’s to take an unsteady sip of her tea. Kaisa does the same.
Then they stare at each other.
Omega’s mouth keeps opening and closing; finding the starts of questions or sentences that have no defined end. Like clouds, they are only the culmination of air and water. She can’t reach out and hold on. Like a storm, her mind races around them. Like rain, it’s inevitable. It’s part of life.
The first tangible thread ends up being where this all started.
“He…” Her voice breaks. She still asks, “Fly fishing?”
“He was always quite a good shot,” replies Kaisa. “He’s very proud of his aim. It comforted him, I think, when the rest of him hasn’t always been steady.”
Followed by the second thread.
“Does he fly, too?”
“Like you? Oh, no. He’s scared of heights.”
And the third.
“He’s really happy?”
“I…” Kaisa’s smile is so warm, like the fisherman’s hand on his child’s back. “I really hope so, yes. He’s happy. We’re happy.” She gives Omega’s hand another hearty squeeze. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions, too?”
And then, the fourth thread. Here, it’s the final thread. The important one. The one that’s timed to the fuel pump on the marshy town’s shore reaching the end of its refuelling cycle.
Omega shakes her head. She covers her mouth again. She cries. She never stopped.
“I… I can’t,” Omega answers.
“You can’t?”
Omega keeps shaking her head, correcting, “I mean, I won’t. He’s… You’re happy. Both of you. You have a family. I… I have a family. It’s been fifteen years, Kaisa. Y–you said yourself, you never knew what to say to me. How will he?”
“Omega…”
“I didn’t even know he was still alive. We never thought… We… We looked. We didn’t have many places we could look, but we did. Then we had to let him go. And that wound will never heal, but every day, it gets easier to live with.
“He has a memorial at home. I have things of his on my ship. He’s still alive, for us, in the way we remember him. Because he’s never been forgotten, not once, and not ever. He’s touched so many lives. He still does. He saved mine.
“But not like this. This is your husband. He’s not my brother.
“Even if he could be again, then that guilt you have? I couldn’t take him away from you. I know that pain. I would never impart it onto your family to benefit mine. He taught me that.
“Because you’re right. He does love me. So much. And for that, he would want me to let him go.”
Outside, the rain has stopped. It stopped some undetermined time during the wife’s anecdotes, or it could have stopped as recently as Omega’s final thread. The storm slowly retreats afterwards, like a punctuation mark. A fresh shoal of sunlight peeks through the clouds and into the dining room, bisecting the table between Kaisa and Omega.
The sky and the storm.
The shore and the waves.
The new and the old.
Omega pulls her hand back from Kaisa’s grasp. She dries her eyes, then gets up from the table.
“Thank you for the tea,” she says.
This appears to snap Kaisa out of her tearful daze. She too rises to meet Omega, looking confused and relieved all at once. She asks, “But what will I tell him? What if he wants to know?”
“You can tell him whatever you want,” replies Omega. “I’ll leave my comm code with the port technician. If he calls, I’ll answer.”
“And your family?”
The answer is obvious. But even then, Omega has to pause and consider how to confirm it to herself. After all, she landed here out of sheer chance; a fuel gauge gone awry that left her short of her final hyperspace jump. So she refuelled, went to the market, bought some knick knacks for her brothers, and appreciated the fresh sea breeze.
She is just passing through on the way home.
“I love my family so much,” says Omega. “I’d do anything for them. I am fighting for them right now. All of them.”
Kaisa stares. Then, she nods. She moves forward to open the door.
“Thank you, Omega.”
Omega steps outside, back out onto the balcony. She narrowly avoids tripping over a stray mechanical contraption, and corrects her balance with a quiet and relieved laugh.
“You have a beautiful family, Kaisa,” she adds, now bathed in sunlight, on the balcony, outside, and away, “and a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting me in. Thank you for everything.”
Omega turns away from the open door, takes a deep breath, and walks back to the port.
She checks on her refuelled ship. She puts away her shopping.
She thanks the port technician again. She gives him a few more credits, for the trouble, and she gives him her comm code.
She gets into her ship, and she flies away.