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Omega tugs at the collar of her wetsuit. It is a little tight and small, her wrists and ankles exposed. Biologically, she is the same age as the cadets standing next to her against the wall facing the training pool; however, she is slightly taller physically. Nala Se didn’t think it was necessary to have a custom wetsuit made to fit since Omega will only be taking swimming basics, the lessons extensive and lasting less than a week.
“Where’d you come from?” the cadet on her left asks, eyeing Omega suspiciously.
Omega smiles and avoids the question. “I’m Omega,” she says instead.
The cadet frowns at her. “Why are you here?”
“Same reason you are,” Omega says, shrugging.
“You don’t belong here,” the cadet sneers, “You’re not a soldier.”
Now Omega feels annoyed. She’s being friendly, so why is he being so rude? “Well, you’re not one either,” she tells him. “You’re only three cycles. You can’t be a trooper until you’re nine.”
The cadet sticks his tongue out at her, crosses his arms, and turns to face the water again.
Omega learns that the cadet’s name is Racket, which suits him. He is loud and annoying. And bossy. And a bully.
Omega loses count of the number of times he shoves her underwater. While he never holds her there, it is always unexpected, causing Omega to sputter and gasp when she comes back up.
He takes her floatation device and throws it out into the middle of the training pool. The instructor gets it, scolding Omega for letting it get away from her. She tries to explain what happened, but the instructor interrupts, “I don’t want to hear your excuses.”
When they’re swimming laps, Racket grabs at Omega’s legs or arms as he passes her to throw off her strokes, leaving her floundering to recover.
When the lesson is finally over, Omega finds Nala Se waiting for her with a towel and change of clothes. “How was your lesson, Omega?” she asks.
It is all Omega can do not to cry when she asks, “Do I have to come back?”
“That is the intention,” Nala Se replies, guiding Omega to the private changing room usually reserved for the instructors. “Why? Did something happen?”
Omega glances across the room and sees Racket watching her, a cruel smirk on his round, young face. He might be a bully, but Omega is not a tattletale. “No. I just didn’t like it.”
“Hmm,” Nala Se hums. “I thought you would benefit from interacting with individuals your age; however, if you feel it is not a positive experience, perhaps private lessons would be more beneficial.”
***
“Oh, look, a little lab scrabber,” Racket sneers when Omega walks into the infirmary with AZI.
Omega ignores him, keeping her pace to show she doesn’t care. However, AZI stops to look at the clone sitting on the edge of a medical cot holding an ice pack to a developing black eye. “I must correct you, CT-1051811. Omega is not a lab scrabber . She is a medical assistant.”
“Ignore him, AZI,” Omega calls over her shoulder, putting the tray of sanitized medical tools on the counter and beginning to sort them into their proper drawers.
“It’s so sad that your only friend in the galaxy is a medical droid,” Racket croons and then laughs.
Omega rolls her eyes. “Yep. Almost as sad as ending up in medical because you lost a fight against a seven year cadet in a training module.”
“My medical records are classified, you little brat,” Racket growls.
Omega finishes sorting the tools and turns. “I’m a medical assistant,” she tells him sweetly. “So I have access to all your embarrassing records. I hope your cracked rib is healing up okay after that tumble from the Star Destroyer ramp. You really should be more careful.”
“Why you–” Racket begins, but Omega flees the room, AZI whirring behind her.
***
She’s done it. She’s finally found her brothers. And she’s sitting with them for a meal. They don’t seem to know what to make of her yet; however, Omega knows they’ll warm up to her. She’s their sister after all. They just don’t remember.
“Check it out,” a voice says behind her. Omega would know that awful voice anywhere. “The defect squad’s got themselves a new recruit. Another member added to the Sad Batch .”
Omega feels her blood begin to boil under her skin, anger bubbling up so fast she doesn’t really think about it when she climbs up on the table and picks up her bowl of soup. No one talks about her little brothers that way. Not on her watch. The bowl of soup hits its mark stunningly: the back of Racket’s stupid head.
“What the…” Racket whirls around, expression twisted with rage muted by the sludge of soup dribbling down his face and armor. “Who threw that?”
Omega already has her next projectile in hand. “I did. Now apologize to my friends.”
“I like this kid!” Wrecker’s voice sounds delighted, but Omega doesn’t let the warmth that fills her distract from the task at hand as Racket makes his way back to the table.
“What did you say to me?” he demands.
Hunter steps in, moving between Omega and her target. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back off,” he tells Racket, “I suggest you keep moving.”
Racket glares down Hunter, shifts his gaze to Omega, and then to something behind her. Omega knows it must be Wrecker looming at her back. She keeps her expression firm.
Wisely, he deflates, scoffing. He starts to turn around, but not without having the final word. “Know your place, lab scrabber,” he tells Omega, smirking.
Omega glares after him. She can take him calling her names.
But apparently, Wrecker can’t. A tray of food flies past Omega’s head, hitting Racket hard, nearly toppling him. Omega grins as the cafeteria begins to erupt into chaos. This will be a good bonding experience with her brothers.
And they already have her back.
END