Zeb slipped on Ezra’s discarded towel and stumbled backwards into a shelf of Ezra’s little treasures. The Lasat hit the floor amidst a rain of helmets, broken electronics, and food wrappers. “Karabast.” He struggled to rise, only to catch his foot on the lightsaber Ezra picked up on Malachor. Down he went. Something crunched under his weight. “I can hardly move in here!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Ezra leapt from his bunk, scrambling to pick up his belongings. He grabbed the nearest helmet and filling it with the broken com-link and bits of wiring he gathered off the floor.
Zeb shifted enough to pull a broken data pad out from under his butt. His fall had cracked the screen, but it was already half-melted thanks to a blaster bolt. “Why do you even need this junk?”
Ezra didn’t, not yet anyway. You never knew though when you might need a good candle stub, or a bit of string. If life had taught him anything, it was that you couldn’t count on anyone or anything to be there for you unless you made sure it would be, and sometimes not even then. He hugged his helmet full of junk to his chest. “I just do. Okay?”
“All right, all right.” Zeb squirmed again, this time coming up with a somewhat flattened blue milk carton. “Can you at least throw out the trash before we get bugs?”
Ezra took the carton. It smelled sort of funky, but there were, like, twenty things he could do with it. The idea of just throwing it out was almost physically painful. “I can do that,” he lied.
“It was a simple story, about a boy who was lost, and a girl who was broken. They fought alongside a survivor, a war veteran, and a fallen knight. I led them into battle against an evil so terrible, it tried to black out the stars. We fought for each other. We fought for those who could not. But we never imagined it would end like this.”