Thrawn sat in his command chair, watching with singular concentration as a
slowly revolving hologram of an ancient art museum moved around him in the darkened
space of his chambers. The pieces were paintings, most of them watercolors of
mountainous landscapes half-veiled in mists. At first viewing the paintings
all seemed derivative, one piece playing upon themes from a prior piece. He
frowned slightly. Not derivative, exactly. These works held to a different aesthetic
tradition. The minds of the people who had created them appeared to be of a
human variant, but there were some subtle differences and he had not yet teased
out the exact nuances to his satisfaction. While his other plans proceeded at
their own steady pace, this exercise served to keep his mind sharp.
His finger touched a switch on his keypad and one of the paintings halted its
slow progression and moved closer to his chair so he could study the details.
Misty mountains had been brushed onto the silk cloth. A wind-shaped conifer
clung to its rugged slopes and a bird perched on a limb in the foreground. No
- not a bird, a winged humanoid form, ebony in silhouette, crouching on the
branch. Human? He rejected the notion almost as soon as he'd thought it. Something
alien in its stance caught his attention. Even in this ink-brushed rendering
the form of it made the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He leaned
forward, red eyes narrowed to burning slits in concentration.
WHAM!!
The noise made him half-jump out of his chair. He raised the light level and
swiveled his seat in time to see a shamefaced Repair Technician First Class
standing half out of an opening in the floor. The heavy metallic cover of the
manhole lay quivering on the deck by his side. Belatedly the tech offered a
hasty salute.
"Dreadful sorry sir!! We was wanting to check up on those leaky pipes
we'd fixed last tenday an' didn't want to disturb yaz, but…" His voice
trailed off as he took in Thrawn's expressionless stare.
"Hey! What're ya doin' up there!? Picking yer nose?" An annoyed voice
echoed up from the maintenance serviceway below.
"Put a rag innit!" The first tech hissed in answer. "We'z bothering
the Admiral!"
"You wish to inspect your repairs, Technician Spenzer?" asked Thrawn
calmly.
"Ahh, yezzer, yor honor." Again the tech saluted, his accent worsening
due to nerves.
"Then do so. And then you may leave." Thrawn turned the lights up
to a level where a normal human could see decently, then settled back to let
the techs of the Chimaera do their work. They were competent, after their
own fashion, even if they did not have the spit-and-polish appearance of the
standard Imperial officers. Rukh, his alien bodyguard, poked his head into the
chamber and raised a quizzical eyebrow at his master. He had seen these people
ten days before, under rather trying circumstances, but had been told they were
trustworthy. Thrawn dismissed him with a nod and he left without the techs even
noticing that he'd been there.
Not needing to be invited twice, Technician Spenzer climbed out of the access
way and in quick order helped his two fellow-techs up and into the chamber where
they immediately fell to removing wall panels and scanning the piping inside.
Now that they had been given permission to work, they ignored the Grand Admiral
and concentrated on what they were doing, passing small instruments back and
forth and recording readings on datapads strapped to their forearms. Their movements
were sure and quick. Among themselves they spoke in a brief dialect of Basic,
which Thrawn could only partially understand. Their conversation, as far as
he could tell, was solely about the job at hand, rather than about future tasks
on their repair and maintenance lists. Thrawn approved of their ability to concentrate.
He watched them idly at first, then with greater attention, it being such a
rare phenomena to see the black gang 1
of a ship out in officer's territory.
They were filthy, as they had been the first time he'd seen them, during the
"great flood" 2 of his
chambers ten days past. The dirt on their exposed skin was composed of an amalgam
of carbon-soot, oils, and various colorful fluids. Their grey coveralls were
stiff with ground-in accumulated grime.
The alien admiral sniffed the air delicately. I do not think these people
have bathed in quite some time, he thought.
A few minutes later the two junior techs were replacing the access panels in
their slots and sealing them up. Technician Spenzer stood up and saluted the
Admiral. "Sir, we're all finished. The repairs are holding good, so y'shouldn't
be getting any more floods in future."
"Very good, Technician." Thrawn steepled his long blue fingers. "Tell
me, before you go. You and your crew have the most interesting accents. I believe
you come from Dumarest?"
"Me, sir?" Spenzer pointed a thumb at his chest. The rest of his
crew joined him, having finished the final cleanup of their work area.
"All of you. You each have similar accents. Were you all recruited from
Dumarest?"
"Nossir, not us." Spenzer shook his head, as did his crewmates. "We
was all born in space, yer honor. We're all of us black gang born an' bred,
of the Families."
"Families?" Thrawn blinked. "What Families?" Being a Chiss,
matters concerning family and clan were of great importance, and he could hear
the weight attached to the term 'Family'.
"Um… the Stol'chenny Families sir. The ship-people." He paused
as if unsure what else to say, but at the Admiral's nod he continued. "Our
ancestors got into the shipwright trade ages ago, and many of them sailed on
the great fleets of the old Republic. After awhile, they didn't bother to return
to their homeworlds; the ships and the stations became their homes. They married
and had their families in space. We was all born in space, as was just about
everyone in the black gang aboard this ship and the Gang in practically every
Imperial ship in the fleet." He spoke with quiet pride. "We keep everything
running smooth, it's our calling."
"You have never set foot on a planet?"
"No sir, not ever. The thought of walking on a ball of rock with nothing
over our heads is… scary." Spenzer's companions nodded in silent agreement.
"That's right, sor, planets is nasty dirtballs," the second tech
chipped in, "yez never know what'll fall on you from space. Ships is much
safer."
Thrawn's mouth quirked as he restrained a smile. "Safer? I shall have
to inform my officers of that fact. As for being dirty places… it seems
Chimaera is just as filthy." He gestured at their coveralls.
"Wot, this, sir?" Spenzer wiped his hands over the front of his already-grimy
chest. "This's ship-dirt, it's perfectly clean!"
"I fail to follow your logic Technician, but never fear," Thrawn allowed himself to smile fully at the repair crew. "I have the cure for your lamentable condition close at hand…"
Technician Spenzer gazed up at the tall alien Admiral. "Sir?" His
face revealed a certain level of trepidation mixed with curiousity. "The
cure? For what condition, sir? We're not sick."
"Certainly you aren't ill, that is apparent. This way." He lead the
troup of techs through his command suite, and into his private quarters. They
followed obediently, not having any choice in the matter. Thrawn lead them off
down a short corridor and stopped, letting the door to the chamber beyond slide
open. "Here we are." His voice sounded somehow… pleased. He stood
aside slightly to allow the techs entrance. They did so, and halted inside,
staring in total confusion.
"Ah… sir? This is the 'fresher." Spenzer scanned about in a
businesslike fashion. "Did you have leakage in here as well?" The
'fresher was quite large and very nicely appointed, sporting a soaking-tub lined
with beautiful blue azurite tiles as well as a combined water/sonic shower large
enough to hold a Bantha. Spenzer squinted at the floor. It seemed to be dry.
"No. It works perfectly well and is properly watertight, as it should
be."
"But then, what are your orders sir? If you don't need this facility repaired…?"
Spenzer and his fellow-techs looked confused again.
"My orders are simple. Bathe."
"What?!" The cry came from all three of them.
The second tech, named Genje, squeaked. "You can't mean bathe in here!
In this nice place?!!" The curly-haired tech's eyes were large and astonished.
Belatedly he added, "sir". The Admiral could read the tech's name
patch through the grime now that he stood so close.
Thrawn had placed himself in the doorway, which seemed to have been the correct
tactical thing to do, for the techs all looked as if they would have forgotten
the demands of rank and protocol and stampeded through the door if he had left
it unguarded. He folded his arms across his broad chest and looked stern, which
was very easy for him to do. Under his red stare, the techs bunched together
like a herd of frightened nerfs.
"Yes, I expect you to bathe in this place." He smiled at them, which
didn't seem to do much to reassure them. "Call it a reward for your good
work. You are faithful members of the Imperial Navy. You should look like it,
not like poor street-urchins from the Lowtowns of Marzin."
He clapped his hands, causing them to all jump in unison. "So, remove
your coveralls and place them here." He pointed at his feet. "Then
you will scrub and wash in there." A gesture at the shower. "Then
you will soak over there." A nod at the large pondlike sunken tub. "I'll
give you a good hour. That should be more than enough to get you quite clean.
By the time you are finished, the droids will have brought clean uniforms. Towels
are in that cupboard. Use as many as you require. Soap is in the shower. I trust
you know how to use it."
He waited. The techs stared at him as if frozen in carbonite.
"You DO know how to use soap?" He had a sudden horrid suspicion.
"Ahh… yezzir!" cried the group like some sort of Alderaanian
Tragic Chorus.
"But! Um… ain't water scarce, sir? That's what we been told for ages."
The third member of the black gang had finally found his voice and he presented
his argument hopefully.
Thrawn glanced at his name patch. "Technician Haryo. That was true for
ships in the days of the Ancient Republic. But water supplies on modern ships
of the line like this Star Destroyer are perfectly adequate to the task of handling
a normal routine of crew bathing. The water is recycled. Now. Will you begin
as I have instructed, or do you require… help?" At this cue, Rukh
poked his head into the 'fresher and looked at the techs as if they were a potential
lunch.
"No sir!!"
"Yezzir!"
"Right away zir!"
A few moments later a pile of thoroughly filthy coveralls lay at the toes of
the Grand Admiral's black boots. As he suspected, under their clothing, they
were not much cleaner, the dirt of months of work having long since penetrated
into their skins. He blinked. One of them was female. He coughed, more than
a little embarassed that he had not been able to detect the difference under
the baggy clothing and grime till now.
"Technician Genje, do you wish to bathe separately from your comrades?"
he offered calmly.
"Huh? Why? These're my workmates." Genje looked at him curiously
as she tugged the door to the shower open.
"It's ok sir, we're all in the same unit an' we share everything,"
added Spenzer.
"Bunks, too," offered Haryo as further explanation.
"Never mind, I do not require the details. As long as you are comfortable
with the arrangement, proceed. I will deliver your clean uniforms as soon as
they arrive, until then… wash." Thrawn was not sure what sort of family
or clan relationship this implied, and he was certain he did not want to press
them further, since that would only distract them from their current task.
Stepping back, he shut the 'fresher door firmly and moved into his nearby office
to enter the request for three clean technician's uniforms. That done, he paused
to listen. From the 'fresher came the noises of chattering and giggling.
"I don't hear water running… do you want assistance?" He called
in his best parade-voice, managing to make the word 'assistance' sound thoroughly
menacing.
A sudden dead silence descended, followed by that chorus again. "Nossir!
We're working on it!"
"See that you do." Soon the sounds of the shower running filtered through the 'fresher door and Thrawn turned to his datacomp to deal with the usual pile of paperwork. He stopped with a shudder of realization. I sounded just like my Father! Merciful Goddesses! Scowling, he returned to his work with vigor, keeping half an ear turned to the welcome sounds of washing. Five minutes into their ablutions, Thrawn heard their voices raised in a song made quavery by water and the acoustics of the tile-lined 'fresher.
Baby,baby, naughty baby,
Hush you naughty thing, I say.
Peace this moment, peace, or maybe
Exar Kun will pass this way.
Baby, baby he's a giant,
Tall and dark as Roken steeple,
And he breakfasts, dines, rely on't
Every day on naughty people.
Baby, baby, if he hears you,
As he flies past the house,
Limb from limb at once he'll tear you,
Just as felinx tears a mouse.
And he'll beat you, beat you, beat you
And he'll beat you all to pap,
And he'll eat you, eat you, eat you,
Every morsel snap, snap, snap. 3
That is a rhyming-song for children?! Most interesting. I should investigate their clan history when I can, I've never heard poetry of that form and with such odd humor before. Since their singing did not seem to be interfering with their washing, he said nothing, continuing to work on his comp. At least they're getting clean, he thought with some satisfaction.
After a few more choruses of strange music, and less splashing, Thrawn started
wondering about their progress and put down his lightpen. Striding to the 'fresher
door, he opened it and looked inside. Yes, there were definitely three forms
in the shower, but, "Technician Spenzer?" He called in a mild voice.
"Yezzir?" Spenzer slid open the shower door and looked out into the
room, his eyes widening when he saw his commanding officer actually inside the
'fresher. His face looked wet and cleaner. Thrawn walked up, took a quick look
at the rest of him, and frowned. The remainder of his technician was still spotted
with grime from the neck down.
"Technician, if you and your scurvy crew do not apply soap, water, and
elbow grease to All of your external body parts, I will have Rukh show you how
to scrub and he will not only remove the dirt but several layers of your epidermis
as well. Do you understand?"
"Yessir!" Their reply emerged as frightened squeaks.
"Carry on then, but be prepared to stand inspection afterward." Thrawn
stalked out of the 'fresher and sat down at his desk with a distinct thump of
annoyance.
The singing at least had ceased, to be replaced with mutterings as the black
gang members tried to sort out the job at hand.
"What'd'e mean when 'e said we'd lose epidermice?" asked Haryo plaintively.
"He means his guard'd scrub off yer skin, y'dolt," said Genje with
a snort.
"Well, it feels like yer scrubbin' it off NOW!"
"Shaddup an' take it like a man."
"That's a fine thing fer You t'say."
Thrawn opened his mouth, about to say, "Don't make me come in there!"
when he closed it quickly with a snap and a shudder. I was about to use one
of my Mother's threats! It's bad enough I used one of my Father's!! Fortunately
the noise from the 'fresher subsided.
A service droid rolled up with a pile of three new technician's uniforms. Thrawn
took them and checked them over. Yes. Very clean. With clean name-patches,
even, as well as new boots. He smiled at that. If nothing else, I'll
be able to spot this group later by their shine. I'm going to have to do something
about the rest of the black gang, if Spenzer and his crew are any indication
of conditions below. It really is intolerable. This ship is the cream of the
Imperial Fleet, not a slave galley!
He nodded at the droid. "Take away the dirty uniforms inside the 'fresher
and put them in Recycle. Keep the clean ones with me." The droid tweeped
an affirmative and zipped into the 'fresher to retrieve the soiled clothing.
It emerged, holding the grime-stiffened coveralls and equally-filthy boots at
the end of its multiple clawlike arms as if it didn't want them too close. Sniffing
like an offended butler it rolled out.
When something disgusts a droid, I know it's bad, Thrawn thought with
a wry smile.
"The Grand Admiral said to soak in here." Genge's voice sounded more
curious than frightened.
"Are yez sure? It looks too deep." Spenzer was dubious.
A shriek followed by a sudden splash echoed from the 'fresher.
"Nah, it's only up to ya neck!" Genge chuckled.
Another splash and laughter.
"Well I'm getting in careful-like!" said Haryo. Given that Thrawn
heard no further sounds of surf, he assumed that the last member of the group
had managed to enter the tub the normal way.
Thrawn gave them the rest of the hour to soak, then called in. "Time is up. Assemble front and center."
Once the sounds of damp scrambling subsided, the Admiral opened the door and
let them out. The techs emerged, looking much improved. They were scrubbed and
clean… so clean that Thrawn could finally tell that Haryo had brown skin,
Genje was ivory-tan, and Spenzer was peach-pale where he wasn't rubbed red from
scrubbing. Genje actually had red hair and Haryo was blond. Before he had assumed
they all had black hair. At least none of them seemed to suffer from the strange
nudity taboos 4 that Thrawn had
encountered among the upper classes of Imperial citizenry.
He nodded. "Much better. You pass muster." The techs looked relieved.
Thrawn handed out their fresh uniforms. "Here. From now on I expect you
three to keep yourselves and your clothing at a certain level of cleanliness."
"Eh? Uhhh., what parameters do you want, sir?" Spenzer asked, struggling
into his fresh clothing with a slight scowl, as if he missed his familiar, filthy
old ones.
Now Thrawn actually had to think for a minute. [Hmm, I've never had to consider
what would be minimally required. A fair question, actually.]
"Bathe or shower at least once a week."
"The whole body?" asked Genge.
"Yes, Technician, the entire body." Thrawn restrained a deep sigh.
"Would you leave a delicate machine half-repaired?
"Oh, nossir!" she answered, then nodded in sudden understanding.
"Oh! I get it!"
"Excellent. That goes for your clothing as well. Washed once a week, whether
it needs it or not. When it gets worn, aquire fresh ones from Stores. We can
afford it."
"Yes sir!" The group offered snappy salutes, looking like proper
Imperials for the first time since Thrawn had met them.
He returned the salute. "Dismissed. Except-" His voice halted them
in mid-exit. "Take the lifts down. Don't leave through the serviceways."
"Yes sir." They trooped away and left his suite in an orderly line.
Thrawn grinned triumphantly as the door to his quarters closed behind them.
Much better indeed. The forces of clean Order have won another battle over
the unwashed hordes of Chaos. His smile lasted until he entered the 'fresher.
He'd failed to take into account the fact that all that accumulated grime had
to go somewhere. The walls of the shower were covered with the most amazing
colors and stains. A scary pile of what was probably shed hair clogged the drain.
The soaking-pool had a layer of oily pond scum floating on its surface, although
since half the contents of the tub seemed to be on the floor of the 'fresher,
emptying the tub would not take too long.
Shaking his head with a sigh, he left the 'fresher without touching anything and tapped a key on his comp. At the answering chime he spoke, "A cleaning droid to my quarters, please." After a brief pause he added, "Make it a heavy-duty model."
The End.
###
Comments? Feedback? Email me.
Copyright stuff:
Footnotes
(1) Black gang - a term from the age of steam-fired
engines, which were fueled by shoveling coal into their fireboxes. The coal
dust covered the engine room crew, hence the origin of the name, which later
was applied to anyone who worked on engines belowdecks. In the modern starfleets
the term is used to refer to anyone who is a member of the engine room, repair,
and maintenance crews, almost all of whom live and work "belowdecks"
on the warships.
(2) The Great Flood, described in the prequel-story, "Dirt".
(3) A slightly modified version of a poem taken from the
"Annotated Mother Goose."
(4) In these stories, Chiss do not recognize nudity while
bathing as being worth noticing. (See "Dirt" for more on this.)
Copyright stuff:
Various Star Wars characters ©2001 Lucasfilm. The original Adm. Thrawn
was created by Timothy Zahn for his series of Star Wars novels: Heir to the
Empire, Dark Force Rising, The Last Command, and the Hand
of Thrawn duology.
This is a work of non-profit fan fiction. This product was not tested on animals.