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Chopper lowers himself into the long-forgotten but familiar droid socket of the bomber. He ignores the voice of the old clone chiding him.
He remembers the last time. Retread and Sting turning to look at him as the bomber's engines come on line. "Ready to go, little guy?" the gunner, Sting asks.
The are interrupted by a tiny orange, blue, and white figure leaping on the wing. Her normally light and smiling face is grave and stricken with pain. She touches pilot and gunner on their shoulders. She runs her hand over Chopper's dome in an affectionate gesture.
He remembers his last view of her. Of her taller, older, self facing the tall, dark figure as the door of the Temple comes down. An older self, but with still a tiny hint of that joyful, loving Padawan of the War. A warrior facing the menacing figure to save his new meatbags, who, as usual had gotten themselves in over their heads.
He rests on the deck of the carrier facing the Y-Wing that had carried him to safety. He slowly raises his right utility arm. He brings the claw to his dome, as he had seen his meatbag squadron mates do on many important occasions.
In honor of those who were 'marching far away.' In honor of a tiny little orange Jedi, who he hopes against hope has not joined their ranks.
A tiny little orange Jedi who ran her hands over his dome, just as she did her meatbag soldiers' shoulders.