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Waves crest and fall in a gentle rhythm that echoes down the streets of Pabu. Zatt’s mind threatens to spin in every direction, but he latches onto the steady cadence of the sea, letting it be his anchor.
His crew is crammed into a beat up landspeeder they rented at the top of the island. Ganodi sits in the driver’s seat, with Byph and Gungi wedged beside her on the front bench. Their voices overlap and meld together with the gentle hum of the motor. Kipp is perched on Ganodi’s shoulder, providing directions every few minutes. Zatt would usually be the one to guide their pilot through the streets, but today he’s happy to take the back seat.
Zatt turns his face into the sun, letting his eyes slide closed. The warmth seeps beneath his skin and coaxes the tension out of his muscles. On his right, Katooni hums along to the song on the radio; a soft melody that floats on the breeze. The musicality of her voice catches him by surprise. Zatt has never heard Katooni sing before. On his left, Petro is tucked into his side. His hair has already begun to curl; the salt spray of the approaching ocean bending the thick strands beyond tame. Their fingers are threaded loosely together, and Petro’s thumb draws slow circles across Zatt’s knuckles.
The landspeeder comes to a gentle stop. Zatt lifts his head and finds himself confronted with an endless ocean. The island is surrounded by water, but only now does Zatt fully appreciate how remote Pabu is. For the first time in his life, he feels removed from the rest of the Galaxy.
The beach stretches down the island. Palm trees erupt from the sand, providing refuge from the sun. Couples walk arm and arm down the shore, children chase the tide with giggling excitement, and families work together to build elaborate sand castles. The air smells of salt and serenity.
They tumble out of the landspeeder. Zatt stretches his legs, then leans back into the vehicle to collect his tote bag and beach chair. The six of them combined have packed an impressive amount of luggage for a single day at the beach.
“If any of you track sand back to the Drifter, I’ll stick you on cleaning duty for the rest of your life,” Ganodi threatens.
Katooni slings an arm around her shoulder. “Let it go, Captain,” she teases. “We’re supposed to be relaxing.”
Ganodi rolls her eyes, but she leans into Katooni’s side. The two of them lead the way down the beach, navigating through a maze of chairs, picnic baskets, and beach toys. They finally locate an empty patch of sand, and Ganodi stakes her claim immediately by planting their umbrella. She orders Gungi and Petro to unpack the rest of their belongings and threatens cleaning duty again to anyone who forgets to put on sunscreen.
While his crew sets up their makeshift camp, Zatt searches for Kipp. He comes up empty, but a trail of tracks in the sand draws his attention. He follows them around a neighboring set of beach chairs to find Kipp attempting to sneak away with the small mechanical surfboard Zatt made for her a few months back. For a handmade droid built entirely of rust prone metal and mismatched electric circuits, Kipp is quite the waterbug.
“BD-K1P,” Zatt calls, voice stern.
Kipp startles. She turns around and tilts her head. Zatt knows that head tilt. It’s one of innocence, the I Have Never Done Anything Wrong head tilt.
“Nice try.” He digs through the oversized bag at his shoulder and pulls out a bright yellow inflatable tube. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Kipp whines through her circuits. She drags her feet through the sand as she slumps back over to Zatt.
“You know the rules,” Zatt tuts. He crouches and pulls the small floaty as far as it will stretch. As he wriggles it over Kipp’s antenna, she beeps in protest. “Hold still! Yes, you do have to put this on. It’s like sunscreen for droids.”
Zatt pulls the yellow floaty over Kipp’s head and secures it around her middle. The inflatable should keep her afloat if she falls in the water, but it hardly buoys Zatt’s assurance. “Alright, the surfboard is still finicky, but I think you should be–” Zatt doesn’t get to finish. Kipp has already squirmed out of his grip and is dragging her surfboard through the sand. “Stay where I can see you!” Zatt calls, but his request gets lost to the breeze.
A comforting hand settles atop his shoulder. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.”
Zatt twists to find Petro behind him. He’s already abandoned his t-shirt in the sand. The tropical printed swim trunks he wears are almost as distracting as the sheer amount of bare skin staring Zatt in the face.
“I can help you with your sunscreen,” Petro says in a smooth voice, wiggling his eyebrows. Zatt’s face heats up; he convinces himself the sun is to blame.
Behind them, Ganodi gags. A volleyball streaks through the air and slams into Petro’s shoulder. “Get a room!”
Petro snatches the volleyball and spins it on the tip of his finger. He raises his eyebrow. “Challenging me to a volleyball match? Bold move, Getrik.”
Ganodi places her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a baggy pair of shorts and an oversized novelty t-shirt, something she stole from a tourist stand on one of the many planets they’ve been chased away from. “Please,” she snorts. “You can’t beat me.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. In fact, I’m so confident I’ll win, I’ll let you have first pick.”
Ganodi smirks. Zatt recognizes the competitive glint in her eyes and already knows this game will end with someone in tears. “I pick Gungi.”
The Wookie gives a soft roar of approval. He bounds through the sand and gives her a high five.
“Rookie mistake,” says Petro. “You need someone with speed. Katooni, you’re with me.”
Katooni glances over the top of her sunglasses. She’s dressed in a deep purple bathing suit with an oversized linen button up slipping down her shoulders. Her wide brimmed hat flops in the breeze and casts freckled sun spots onto her face. She tilts her chin. “Absolutely not.”
Petro pouts. “Come on, Katooni. You have to–”
“I don’t have to do anything. I’m on vacation.” She replaces her shades and leans back into her beach chair, already reaching for the holobook poking out of her tote bag.
Slowly, Petro swivels to face Zatt, eyebrows already rising. Zatt is suddenly reminded of all the times Petro dragged him into sparring matches as a youngling. Back then it bothered him; Zatt never understood why Petro couldn’t sit still and relax. But today, with his salt spray tousled hair and tanned skin, Zatt is all too willing to let Petro drag him into whatever he wants.
Which is how he finds himself—not even five minutes later—on the receiving end of Gungi’s deadly overhand serve.
Zatt tries his best, he really does. But evidently his careful hand-eye coordination does not translate to sports the way he expects. Petro dives past him several times, managing to save the volleyball before it hits the sand, only for Ganodi to lob it right back and score yet another point. Zatt offers his hand and pulls Petro to his feet.
“What happened to your sharp Force senses?” Petro asks as he tosses the ball back to Gungi beneath the net.
Zatt rolls his eyes. “This isn’t exactly the same as sparring.”
He’s jealous of Byph, who conveniently disappeared during the team draft process and is now sitting beside Katooni in the shade, ice cream cone in hand. They’re both wearing sunglasses and identical smirks as they watch him make a fool of himself.
“Having fun, Wozniak?” Byph calls.
Zatt shoots him a glare. “I made you that pair of custom sunglasses and this is how you repay me?”
Byph just licks his ice cream in response.
“I hope you get a brain freeze–”
“Heads up!”
Zatt ducks just in time. The volleyball creates a crater in the sand at his feet.
“Come on, Zatt,” Petro whines. He points across the court, where Ganodi and Gungi are laughing and performing what looks like a complicated dance routine. “They’re doing that stupid victory dance of theirs. We can’t lose to them.”
Kipp has apparently lost interest in surfing, content to watch Zatt and Petro suffer. She beeps from her perch atop the sandcastle Katooni and Byph are building.
“Nobody’s gonna take that bet, Kipp,” says Katooni, waving her pink plastic shovel. “They’re obviously gonna lose.”
Petro wipes the sweat from his brow. “The game’s not over ‘til it’s over,” he declares.
The game ends two serves later, after Petro and Zatt collide in their attempt to return the volley. Petro pulls Zatt to standing, kisses him on the cheek, then kicks him off his team.
“Alright, Kipp, you’re up,” Petro calls. “Let’s see if you can serve better than Zatt.”
Kipp beeps in delight. She rushes onto the court, toppling Byph and Katooni’s carefully crafted sandcastle.
Zatt collapses in the sand beside Katooni. She takes one look at him over the top of her holobook, then reaches into the metal cooler at her side. She withdraws three brightly colored frozen popsicle sticks, wrapped in cellophane. Katooni holds them out to Zatt like a deck of cards. “Pick your flavor.”
“Where’d you get these?” Zatt asks, incredulous. He takes the green popsicle and tears the packaging open.
Katooni shrugs. She passes the orange popsicle to Byph and keeps the blue one for herself. “I have my ways.”
Old pirate habits die hard, Zatt remembers her saying once. He should probably reprimand her for jeopardizing herself, however small. But when he takes a bite of the popsicle, his complaints die on his tongue. The citrus infused ice cools the sting of defeat, and Zatt settles into his own beach chair to watch a shirtless Petro run back and forth through the sand.
* * *
Zatt lounges with Byph and Katooni in the shade of their yellow umbrella. They work their way through Katooni’s stolen stash of popsicles, reading the awful jokes etched into the sticks and trying to write better ones. Zatt plays Byph in a round of Cosmic Sabacc: a version of sabacc they invented one long, rainy weekend aboard the Cosmic Drifter. The objective of this version is to cause total chaos. Surprisingly, Zatt wins at Cosmic Sabacc more often than the original game. He beats Byph today and claims the last popsicle as his prize.
When the athletic half of their crew is on their third match of the day (“best three out of five!” Petro demands), Byph falls asleep. His quiet snores harmonize with the gentle roll of the waves. Zatt stashes their deck of sabacc cards, then digs into his toolbelt for his mini screwdriver. The surfboard he made for Kipp still has kinks, and Zatt wants to fix the contraption before they leave the beach. He tinkers as Katooni reads beside him, and the laughter of their friends envelopes them both.
Just as he’s finishing his maintenance check of the surfboard’s fin, Katooni’s face pops into view. “Take a walk?” she asks.
Zatt nods.
Closing her holobook, Katooni pulls herself out of the beach chair. She adjusts their umbrella so the shade fully covers Byph. He’s still asleep in the sand; a holobook lays forgotten across his chest.
Zatt stands and follows her down the beach. They pick their way through the crowds, stepping around coolers, beach balls, and abandoned pairs of flip flops. This coastline is crowded, but Zatt doesn’t feel claustrophobic. He doesn’t sense the tug at the back of his neck, the one that constantly urges him to run and hide. He folds into this crowd with ease and, for once, Zatt feels normal. He’s just like everyone else sprawled across this beach; taking a well-earned break and soaking in the sun.
Katooni slows when she reaches an emptier stretch near the rocks at the edge of the island. For a while they move in comfortable silence, each leaving a trail of footprints in the wet sand. At some point, Katooni stops walking. Zatt stops beside her. They stand shoulder to shoulder, ankle deep in salt water that laps against their skin. Zatt anchors himself again in the steady hum of the waves as he waits for Katooni to share the real reason she asked him to take a walk.
“It’s been a year, you know,” she finally says. “A year since–”
“Since Nevarro,” Zatt finishes with a nod. “Yeah, I know.”
A year since Katooni slammed into Petro and Zatt. Since they rescued Gungi and Byph. Since they became a proper crew.
Zatt twists to look at Katooni. He finds her eyes far away, pointing down the beach. He follows her gaze and spots their friends in the sea of colorful bathing suits and umbrellas. Zatt watches Gungi toss Ganodi over his shoulder and sprint around the sand, pumping his fist in a victory lap. He swears he can hear Ganodi’s laugh from here. He spots Petro chasing Kipp near the water, a brilliant grin stretching across his sun kissed face. Zatt is struck by how young he appears. He’s witnessing a side of Petro that has lain dormant for years, crushed under the weight of rebel expectations.
He turns his attention back to Katooni. Zatt scrutinizes her the same way he did a year ago when she first set foot aboard the Drifter. “That day…” he hedges, an old confession bubbling to the surface. “I almost told Petro not to go after you. I didn’t trust the Force. I didn’t want to get his hopes up. Get my hopes up.”
The what if haunts him, sometimes. Makes him feel rotten for even considering walking away. But the truth doesn’t appear to phase Katooni. Unexpectedly, she laughs. The sound carries, twinkling across the waves like a skipping stone.
“Honestly, back then? That’s what I would have wanted,” she says. Then she brushes the thought away. “But even if you had, it wouldn’t have mattered. Petro would have chased me through hyperspace. You know how he is.”
Zatt does. Petro is always chasing something, and Zatt is always chasing Petro.
“You really didn’t sense us?” It’s a question he’s always wanted to ask her. He remembers sitting across from Petro in that dingy diner. Remembers Katooni’s Force presence wrapping around his shoulders like a well-worn cloak.
Katooni shakes her head. “No. But I would now. I would sense any of you across the Galaxy.” Her smile wobbles. She turns away from him to face the ocean. The water stretches on endlessly, disappearing into the horizon.
Zatt knows what she’s thinking. He knows, because it’s all he’s been thinking about since they got the call from rebel command. He knows, because it's the reason he suggested this beach getaway in the first place.
“We’ll be okay,” he decides. Zatt declares so to Katooni with the sea as his witness. He clings to the assertion, tucks it against his chest for safe keeping. “We’re still a crew, even if rebel command no longer views us as such.”
Katooni hums. She bends down to dig a seashell from the sand. The conch is cracked, but still beautiful. “Maybe Yavin Base will have better caf.”
“Don’t let Ganodi hear you say that. She thinks her roast is the best in the Galaxy.”
Katooni gives a soft snort. The sound gets lost to the waves.
Zatt wants to fix this. Wants to coax her full-body laugh back out. Wants to keep his crew together.
Katooni finally looks up from her seashell. Her expression holds an ounce of apprehension, one she tries to hide. But Zatt sees it. He always does. She flicks grains of sand to the ground. “What do you think comes next?”
Zatt doesn’t know. He doesn't want to know. He simply wants this day to last forever. So he takes a page from Katooni’s playbook. Zatt plucks the sunglasses off her forehead and slides them onto his nose. “I don’t want to think,” he declares. “I’m on vacation.”
Katooni grins—wide and unflinching—and she looks like herself. Like the Katooni he has come to love over the past year. And Zatt knows, even with the changes in the rebellion and across the Galaxy, that Katooni isn’t going anywhere. Neither is the rest of his crew.
She bends down, dipping her hands into the waves cresting at her shins. Zatt assumes she’s fishing for more seashells, until he receives a face full of salt water.
Spluttering, Zatt wipes the salt from his chin as Katooni giggles. She splashes him again for good measure, before setting off down the coast. “Race you to the umbrella!”
Zatt chases after her, kicking at the waves and creating spindrift of his own.
* * *
The beach blurs together as he runs, creating a canvas of streaking color. Zatt doesn’t remember the last time he’s visited a place so beautiful. Pabu is an oasis in the midst of imperialization raging across the Galaxy. The island inhabitants move slowly, deliberately. They cling gently to a way of life Zatt didn’t know could exist anymore.
Katooni beats him back to their makeshift camp in the sand. She rummages through her stash of snacks and pulls out two oranges. Tossing one to Zatt over her shoulder, Katooni bends down and shakes Byph awake.
Zatt peels the clementine, orange juice dripping down his wrists. He knows he’ll leave this beach sticky, sandy, and sleepy, but Zatt doesn’t care. In fact, he’s counting on it.
“Come on, Byph,” Katooni says as she removes her linen over-shirt and drops her beach hat to the ground. “We’ve got a game to win.” She winks at Zatt, then heads straight for the volleyball court.
Byph blinks the sleep out of his eyes. He turns to Zatt. “She’s joking, right?”
“Apparently not.” Zatt stretches and mentally prepares himself for the number of wipeouts he’s about to rack up. Maybe today he’ll beat his personal record. He hands Byph a couple of orange slices as they jog through the sand to catch up with Katooni.
They stop at the edge of the volleyball court. Petro stands at the back corner, eyes narrowed. He spins the volleyball between his fingers, searching for his mark, while Kipp scurries back and forth a few feet ahead. On the other side of the net, Ganodi and Gungi crouch in similar stances, eyes trained on their opponents. Petro tosses the ball into the air and–
“Who’s winning?” Zatt calls.
His voice pulls Petro’s attention. He cuts his serve short, snatching the volleyball out of the air and tucking it under his arm.
“I am,” he declares proudly. Kipp lets off an angry beep. “We are,” Petro corrects. He bends down to pat Kipp on the head, glancing at Zatt as he does so. “I’ll have you know that Kipp is an excellent teammate.”
“She’s so low to the ground, it’s unfair,” Ganodi grumbles from the other side of the net.
Kipp gives a long, aggressive beep; the droid equivalent of blowing a raspberry. Ganodi sticks out her tongue.
“So, did you three come to get a closer look at the gun show?” Petro asks with a smirk. He flexes his arms, tan biceps rippling in the sun, and sends a pointed look in Zatt’s direction. Zatt forces his eyes to the sand so the rest of his crew doesn’t catch him staring.
Gungi and Ganodi let off a chorus of gags and groans.
“Nope.” Katooni removes her shades. “We’re here to kick your ass.”
A grin stretches across Petro’s face. He drops his arms. “Oh, is that so?”
With the tilt of her chin, Zatt catches the competitive glint in Katooni’s eye. He bites back his own smile.
“Yep.” Katooni crosses her arms. “Losing team cleans the Drifter for a month!”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that–” Byph hisses, but it’s too late.
Gungi laughs. “You’re on.”
“Fighting words, P’deshh,” Ganodi calls. “But hey, it’s your funeral.”
Petro crosses the volleyball court. He stops just in front of Katooni. They stand toe to toe, eye to eye. “Deal,” says Petro. He sticks out his hand, and Katooni gives it a firm shake. Petro tosses her the volleyball. “I’ll even let you serve first.”
The line is drawn in the sand. Zatt, Byph, and Katooni take the right side of the court, while Petro, Gungi, and Ganodi take the left. Kipp climbs atop the wrecked sandcastle at mid court and declares herself the official scorekeeper.
Naturally, Zatt finds himself matched against Petro at the net. They stand inches apart, separated by a nylon cable, and Zatt suddenly wishes he made this beach trip with Petro alone.
He passes Petro the last orange slice.
Petro tosses the piece of fruit into his mouth. “Thanks, babe,” he says as he chews. He flashes Zatt a soft grin, the one Zatt fell in love with. “You are so gonna lose.”
And they do. Zatt, Katooni, and Byph are no match for the other half of their crew. But Zatt doesn’t mind. He would clean the Drifter for the rest of his life if it could make his friends smile as much as they did today.
* * *
After declaring victory, Petro decides he’s finally ready to relax. He takes Zatt’s hand and pulls him down the shore, searching for the perfect stretch of beach to sit and watch the waves. The sun paints the sky as it sinks low; a watercolor canvas of orange, pink, and yellow. The day is fading fast, and Zatt tries to hang on before it slips away like sand in an hourglass. Time trickles quickly these days, and Zatt often finds himself wondering just how much he has left.
They sit together in the sand, Petro’s head in Zatt’s lap.
Petro’s eyes are closed; his breathing soft and steady like the crest and fall of the waves. The sun has coaxed Petro’s freckles to the surface. Zatt traces the flecks of skin with the tip of his finger. As he smooths the curling strands of hair off Petro’s forehead, he spots a collection of freckles behind his left ear. Zatt has never noticed them before. He wonders how much more of Petro he has yet to uncover.
Petro cracks his eyes open. “This trip was a great idea,” he murmurs, voice thick with relaxation. “You are a genius.”
Zatt flushes at the compliment. Petro’s gaze is too intense. He turns his attention to the sea as his fingers gently work a knot of tangled hair free. “I figured we could all use a break before…” he trails off, unable to say the rest. Before everything changes.
“It’ll be great,” Petro asserts without a hint of trepidation. “Bigger missions, more resources, strategic battle plans. The rebellion is finally making progress, and we’re getting a front row seat.”
Typical Petro. Ever the optimist. He chases the future without glancing back at what he leaves behind. Zatt is his anchor; the one who keeps his feet planted firmly on solid ground.
Zatt doesn’t respond. He lets the waves speak for him. They’ve picked up speed in the last hour, crashing louder and more frequently against the shore.
Petro shifts in his lap, and Zatt braces for the question. “What’s wrong?”
Zatt doesn’t want to say. He’s on vacation. He shouldn’t be thinking. Shouldn’t be worrying this perfect day away. But Petro squeezes his hand just so, and Zatt finds himself spilling.
He whispers the question to the waves. “What if this breaks us?”
Petro sits up immediately. He shifts to face Zatt, concern creasing his brows together. Zatt wants to smooth it away. He wishes he could take the question back. Unable to confront the anguish he’s inflicted on Petro’s face, he stares past his shoulder at the dying sun.
“Hey, look at me.” Petro reaches for Zatt. He cups Zatt's cheek with the palm of his hand. His fingers are light. Gentle. Petro is always gentle.
Zatt shifts his eyes from the horizon and focuses on Petro’s face. He’s close enough to count every single freckle.
Petro holds his gaze. When he speaks next, he does so with quiet conviction. “Nothing can break us. It's you and me, remember?”
The words settle against his chest. They remind Zatt of all the years that stretch behind the two of them. All the storms they’ve weathered together, side by side. This one will be no different. He believes Petro. He believes in them.
“You and me,” Zatt repeats. Then he leans forward and catches Petro’s lips between his own. He tastes like orange juice, sunscreen, and salt. The kiss is soft and sweet. Like ice cream melting in the sun.
Zatt pulls away first, only because he has to say it.
“I love you.”
He’s declared this many times before, but it feels important to say right now. He doesn’t know how many more times he’ll get to tell Petro he loves him before they’re separated by parsecs and speaking through a holoprojector.
Petro grins, his face full of color and freckles. “I love you, too,” he says, then kisses Zatt again. When he pulls back, Zatt catches a glint in his eye. “Even if you are terrible at volleyball.”
Zatt feigns mock offense. “Hey! You should be grateful that you're off cleaning duty.”
“Kipp can serve better than you, babe. That's pretty sad.”
“True, but I programmed her. So technically, her serves are my serves.”
“Sure, genius,” Petro teases with such deep affection it makes Zatt dizzy. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
They fall into comfortable silence, Petro’s chin heavy against Zatt’s shoulder. Zatt lets Petro hold him, and savors the warm weight of his forearms wrapped around his chest. They breathe in time with the push and pull of the tide, and Zatt files this perfect moment away for later. He knows a day will come when he’ll need to reach for the memory, but for now he’s content to live it.
Eventually, Petro unwinds himself and stands. He brushes the sand off his swim trunks and extends his hand. “You ready?”
Zatt doesn’t know if he is. But he doesn’t have to be. Not yet, anyway.
He takes Petro’s hand.
They walk arm and arm down the shore, taking the long way back to the landspeeder. Petro pauses periodically to collect seashells and shards of sea glass. He claims he’s gathering souvenirs for the entire crew, selecting something that matches their essence. He presents Zatt with a broken green glass bottle. “It looks just like you!” he declares with a stupid grin.
Zatt shoves him into the sea.
He regrets the decision moments later, when a soaking wet Petro chases him across the beach and tackles him into a sand dune. Ganodi will kill them for tracking sand aboard her ship tonight, but that doesn’t stop Zatt from pinning Petro to the ground and kissing him again.
Eventually, Petro locates two smooth pieces of sea glass nestled together in a bed of rocks. He plucks them from the sand because they match the color of each of their eyes. Brown and green. You and me. He passes the green shard of sea glass to Zatt and keeps the brown one for himself.
They make it to the landspeeder just as the sun settles down for the night. The rest of their crew is already waiting. Everyone is sunburnt and covered in sand, but their faces glow in the moonlight.
“Did you two get lost on the beach?” Byph asks.
Zatt glances at Petro. They share a small smile, something reserved just for them. Zatt shrugs. “Something like that.”
They pile into the landspeeder, and Zatt finds himself between Petro and Katooni once more. He takes Petro’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze as Ganodi pulls away from the beach.
The ride home is quiet; the kind of comfortable silence earned from a day well spent. Zatt tilts his head back and watches the stars blur together. It’s different from a jump through hyperspace. Slow. Lazy.
He likes the change of pace.