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The sun hangs low over Pabu, casting long shadows across the tranquil waters that lap at the island’s shore. The tropical paradise, with its vibrant greenery and gentle waves, is a stark contrast to what former Captain Rex has seen in recent months. Here, life feels almost normal—peaceful, even—but Rex knows better.
War has a way of creeping into the quietest corners. Even after Tantiss’ destruction, there’s work to be done, and its deeds were plotted long before the Clone Wars.
Even here, on Pabu, in the quiet.
Rex landed an hour ago aboard the Remora, but in the lazy afternoon, his thoughts wander. To Echo, who Rex encouraged to spend some time with Clone Force 99. To Emerie, who Rex encouraged to tour the Archium with the island’s archeologist, slash treasure hunter, slash friend to the cause. To Gregor, Howzer, and their other clone company, who Rex encouraged to explore the island and sample the islanders’ hospitality.
He is alone. In the quiet. Tinkering away on the ship, in the attempt to occupy his hands and his mind in tandem.
And he is failing miserably.
He is about to close the Remora’s starboard engine panel, and admit defeat, when the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel seizes his attention. He goes from quietly loud musings, to snapped to attention in a second.
“Rex!”
That’s Omega’s voice; the young girl managed to sneak up on him here. She’s supposed to be with Echo and the rest of the Clone Force 99. She has retired alongside them—safe from the wars, past and present.
Ducking underneath Remora’s starboard wing, Rex spots her standing a stride’s length away. Her small stature is almost swallowed by the long afternoon shadows cast by the ship, yet, the determination in her posture is clear. It reminds him so much of her brothers—and of himself, once upon a time.
“Omega,” Rex greets her with a nod, trying to keep his tone light. “What brings you up here?”
She scuffs her heel on the ground, but she doesn’t lose any of her zest. She’s smiling. Her eyes are softened by the setting sun. She looks like the proper part of a young girl, versus someone touched by war.
“I wanted to ask you something,” says Omega.
“What’s on your mind?”
Omega’s eyes rise from Rex to the Remora. Her smile widens into a grin.
“Is it true you learned how to fly from the General Anakin Skywalker?”
Hearing his name is always like a punch in the gut. During the war, it was because Rex would despair about what trouble the 501st were in this time. The feeling was this fond yet exasperated roll of Rex’s eyes. But now, after everything—in the quiet—it’s the fact that Rex will never see him again; he will never find out what happened to him.
All of this translates to words by Rex going, “Uhh—”
Not that it deters Omega.
“—because I heard the old clones, you know, the generation ones, were sent out really quickly into service. So some of your training was in the field—”
“Heh, look, kid—”
“And now you could teach me!”
Rex’s mouth now finds itself hanging open. He was mid-sentence, but now he is simply unable to get a word out. He knew Omega had some flying lessons—she escaped from Tantiss herself, after all—but he also knew that it was Tech teaching her.
The quiet isn’t the best place to think of him, either. Of any of them.
And Omega would be thinking the same, retired or not. Maybe that’s why she’s here, rather than with her brothers. Indeed, her smile falters, before she squares her shoulders and meets Rex’s gaze head-on.
“Tech was teaching me,” she says, “but you’re here now, and I want to keep learning. I need to keep learning.”
The earnestness in her voice tugs at something deep inside Rex, a place he thought he’d buried beneath layers of duty and responsibility. Clearly, he hasn’t buried it very well, given how his thoughts have wandered all of this afternoon. Likewise, he can see the weight that Omega is carrying, more than the afternoon and its shadows. He can see the determination to prove herself—not just to him, but to Tech’s memory, and the family she’s found with the Bad Batch.
Rex shifts his weight, running his hand over his scalp. Once again, his thoughts are wandering.
“I understand why you want to keep going,” Rex finally says, his voice quieter now, and thoughtful. “But flying isn’t just about skill. Sometimes,” Rex kneels down to meet her, “it’s about letting go.”
Omega frowns. Her enthusiasm dims, or maybe it’s because Rex has met her in the shadows of the Remora. She murmurs, “Letting go?”
Rex nods. “Tech was a great pilot. A great teacher, too. But you’re not going to learn just by holding on to what he taught you.” He sets his hand on Omega’s shoulder. “You’ve got to make it your own. That’s the way we move forward, even when we lose people.”
“It doesn’t feel right to just… move on.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Rex agrees. He glances up briefly, at the horizon. The sun is sinking lower, painting the sky in deeper shades of orange and pink. “But moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting. It means carrying their memory with you, while still living the life they would’ve wanted you to.”
Omega doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Rex wonders if he’s said too much. If he let his thoughts get the better of him. If he assumed Omega’s intent by asking him.
But then she meets his gaze, her eyes searching his face. They stare at each other for another moment, like when they first met.
Then Omega asks, “Is that what you did? With your General?”
The words hit Rex harder than expects; no longer a gut punch, but a winding strike. Anakin Skywalker’s face flashes through his mind, full of passion and confidence.
“The General… Anakin,” says Rex slowly, “he was one of the best. Taught me a lot, about trusting your instincts, and yep, about flying. But he also taught me that loyalty isn’t always easy. Sometimes, it means making hard choices. It means knowing when to walk away.”
Omega looks at him with a new understanding, her youthful exuberance tempered by the weight of the conversation. The shadows. The quiet.
“And now you’re helping the Rebellion.”
Rex smiles softly. He gives Omega’s shoulder an encouraging, and thankful, squeeze. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
“So…” Omega mirrors Rex’s gentle smile. “How do I do it? Like if I don’t keep thinking about Tech, if I don’t remember everything he taught me, I’ll lose him. So how do I learn?”
Rex understands. He feels that way about his brothers, about the General, about the thousands of lives lost in wars that never seem to end. He carries them with him every day, even when he wishes he could let go—and stop his thoughts from wandering.
“We don’t forget them,” answers Rex. He holds eye contact, imploring her with his gaze. “But you can’t let it stop you. If you do, it’s like they’re still keeping you from moving forward.”
“I want to keep going,” she affirms. “I want to keep flying.”
From reflective whimsicality, the determination has returned to Omega. With this, Rex rises back to his feet, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of their heavy conversation.
Likewise, his tone turns lighter when he adds, “Flying’s not easy, you know.”
Once again, Omega’s smile widens into a grin. “I’m a fast learner.”
There’s a pause, as the quiet of Pabu washes over them again. The breeze stirs the surrounding trees and discarded leaves, and there’s the soft sound of waves lapping at the shore in the distance. And then Omega’s voice breaks the silence once more, filled with both hope, and a challenge.
“So, will you teach me?”
Rex sighs, though there’s no real resistance in it. He looks at her—the determination, the hope, the need to prove herself—and he feels something familiar stir inside him. She’s not just asking to learn how to fly; she’s asking for permission to keep moving forward, for someone to show her how to do it without losing herself along the way.
“Alright, kid,” Rex says, finally giving in. “I’ll do it.”
Omega’s face lights up, the shadows recede, and the quiet is shaken by her bouncing on the spot.
“Really?!”
“Really.” Rex nods towards the cockpit of the Remora. “Now, let’s see if you’ve got what it takes.”
