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It wasn’t over. There were still Star Destroyers out there, still people unreasonably loyal to the Empire; but its power was broken now, and its leading figures were dead.
Hera Syndulla had been at war for her entire life, it seemed. There was still cleaning up to do, still an amount of reconstruction that seemed endless; but the war, the war was over. She felt... weightless. Like a heavy load had been lifted away from her. Like she’d drift off into space with any stray motion. It was exhilarating, and terrifying.
Chopper beeped indignantly at her, and instantly she was grounded again. Why, he demanded to know, were the organics being celebrated, instead of him? They never could have come this far without his efforts. And those of the other droids, he added as an afterthought.
She smiled and patted his casing. “I don’t think you’d enjoy a feast too much,” she said, “and that’s all we have right now. But when Sabine meets up with us, I’ll ask her to paint a mural honouring all the non-organic heroes of the Rebellion.”
SabineWren should have constantly remained with TheGhost, Chopper grumbled, so that there would be zero delay.
“She was needed elsewhere, and we hadn’t known that this would be the final victory.”
Regardless, CaptainHeraSyndulla had spent enough time engaging in solitary contemplation. CaptainHeraSyndulla needed to join the others for their organocentric celebration, to represent TheGhost and thus Chopper.
So much had changed since Hera had been that little girl who found an astromech droid in a downed Y-Wing. Sometimes, it was hard to believe that she was the same person, in the same galaxy. There were no constants in her life, but Chopper, and Chopper’s attitude, came as close to it as anything.
She thought that attitude might be rubbing off on some of the droids. She thought it might be rubbing off on some of the people who weren’t droids, too, and she was unsure if she should be worried about that. Maybe, without the Empire hanging over them, that would become her largest concern.
Chopper nudged her.
“I’m going, don’t worry.”
She still had work to do. And if that “work” happened for now to take the form of eating something better than rations, and celebrating alongside people she had fought with, then she would consider it a good sign for their future.