Chapter Text
Jerjerrod awoke to the touch of something hairy and warm against his chest. He breathed in the smell of Coruscanti sweetbean. That was odd. He didn’t recall Conan having any cologne with that scent. Hoping to catch a few more minutes of rest before his alarm went off, Jerjerrod rolled over with a contented sigh.
The moment he began to move, a shrill screech interrupted his reverie.
Whiskers had tumbled down from his perch on Jerjerrod’s bare chest. He writhed on the blankets, trying to right his rotund body. Judging by the racket he was making, he was very upset about being displaced.
“Conan!” Jerjerrod shrieked. “Conan! It’s in the bed! The rat got in our bed!”
He leapt out of bed, inadvertently kicking Motti in the process. Motti let out a low growl of displeasure. Sensing a kindred spirit, Whiskers squeaked and nuzzled up against the groggy captain.
“Morning Whiskers,” Motti mumbled, reaching out to scratch the rat behind the ears.
Jerjerrod let out an affronted gasp. Motti chuckled, sat up on one elbow and gave the slighter man a toothy grin.
“And good morning to you too, my darling,” Motti said. “Did you sleep well?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Jerjerrod pointed an accusing finger at the rat. “How did he get into our room?!”
“I think I might’ve left the door open when I went to the ‘fresher,” Motti replied. “Little guy was still sleeping when I got up, but I guess he must have snuck in here sometime afterwards.”
“He’s not a ‘little guy’ in any sense of the word,” Jerjerrod grumbled. “Now, we’re going to have to throw out the bedsheets.”
He put his hands on his hips and glowered at the rat. Whiskers stared back at him defiantly and shook himself, sending tuffs of grey fur flying off onto the bed.
“I don’t think that’s really necessary,” Motti said. “I’m pretty sure Piett and Veers let him sleep in their bed, and knowing Piett, they definitely don’t throw out their bedding after single uses. Hell, you know Piett reuses plastic forks.”
“I don’t care what Veers and Piett do. That creature intruded into our room and now he’s shedding clumps of filthy hair all over our bed. He’s gone too far, Conan. Much too far.”
Before they could continue the argument, an alarm began to blare overhead. Jerjerrod winced at the jarring sound. He wondered what had triggered it. These days, the emergency siren went off for all sorts of reasons, ranging from X-Wing attacks to Stormtrooper stampedes.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who found the alarm unpleasant. Whiskers was standing with the hairs on his back raised and his fangs barred. He was trembling, making terrible grunting sounds which culminated in a snarl.
“Um, Tiaan,” Motti said. “Do you remember Piett saying anything about the alarm and destructive states of mind?”
“I don’t recall anything specifically concerning the emergency alarm.” Jerjerrod watched in horror as the rat quivered with rage. “Conan, he’s going mad! Quick! You must do something!”
“What am I supposed to do?” Conan stared at the irate creature. “Did Piett tell you how to calm him down?”
“He didn’t tell me anything besides that list of instructions!” Jerjerrod cried. “Oh, where is that list? Maybe we didn’t read it all. Oh, Firmus will be distraught if anything happens to the rat!”
The sound of the doorbell interrupted Jerjerrod’s fretting. Unfortunately, this unexpected visitor only further stoked Whiskers’s rage. Motti caught the rodent mid-lunge. Whiskers squirmed and screeched, trying to free himself, ignoring Motti’s attempts to console him with kind words and promises of treats.
“I’ve got him,” Motti said, though Jerjerrod doubted how much longer this would be true. “You go see who’s at the door. It’s fine. I’ll hold him.”
“Are you certain you can handle that thing on your own?” Jerjerrod winced as Whiskers flailed in Motti’s arms. “Maybe I should help –”
Upon seeing Jerjerrod approach, Whiskers let out an unearthly shriek. Jerjerrod jumped back in horror.
“On second thought,” Jerjerrod gulped, “I think I’ll check the door.”
Praying that he wouldn’t return to find his bedroom in ruins, Jerjerrod scurried off to the foyer. There were two Stormtroopers in the hallway. Each was clad with a sash with a variety of badges.
“Good morning, Captain Jerjerrod,” said one of the troopers. “I am TK-665 and this is TK-667 of Charity Trooper troop 666. We’re raising money for the Imperial Adopt a Tauntaun Refuge Fund. Would you like to buy a box of travel biscuits?”
“Perhaps another time,” Jerjerrod said. He winced as another screech pierced the air. “I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”
TK-665 looked to his companion who nodded solemnly and took out a handheld hologram projector. The display depicted a taunlet with pleading eyes.
“Did you know that every year the Rebel Alliance slays hundreds of tauntauns?” TK-667 said. “These insurgent activities leave countless innocent taunlets orphaned. If not for the work of the Imperial Adopt a Tauntaun Refuge Fund, these helpless taunlets would be left vulnerable to bloodthirsty Rebel wampas. The purchase of just one box of travel biscuits can give an orphaned taunlet a bath and a nutritious meal. Just one box of travel biscuits…”
“Alright, alright, I’ll donate.” Jerjerrod was already transferring the credits. “50,000 credits. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other urgent matters to attend to.”
“Thank you!” TK-667 held out a box of travel biscuits. “Please enjoy this box of Slender Mint Chip Biscuits as a token of our gratitude.”
Before Jerjerrod could decline the offer, a furry projectile struck TK-667. The biscuits went flying as the trooper fell backwards. The raging rodent soon launched itself at TK-665. As both troopers lay fallen amidst the scattered crumbs, Whiskers screeched at his defeated quarry and ran off down the hall.
For a moment, Jerjerrod stood frozen, covered in bits of biscuits. Then, reality struck him, and he took off running after Whiskers.
“He escaped!” Motti was right behind him.
“I noticed,” Jerjerrod snapped. “Whiskers! Come back here this instant!”
Unfortunately, Whiskers proved to be surprisingly fast. Soon, the rat had rounded a corner and disappeared, leaving both captains behind.
Per usual, Motti was the first to speak:
“Well, that could have gone better.”
“We need to find him.” Jerjerrod was trembling from shock. “Oh, Conan. It’s terrible. I shouldn’t have left the door open for so long! What am I going to tell poor Firmus?”
He could already imagine the distraught look on Piett’s face when he realized his beloved pet was missing. There was a good chance that Jerjerrod would end up getting flung by Veers out the airlock afterwards. Lately, the General had taken it upon himself to handle any officer who caused Piett emotional distress. With all that practice throwing rocks on Denon, he’d have no difficulty launching Jerjerrod wherever he pleased.
“Tiaan, please try to calm down,” Motti said. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll find him. He has to be somewhere on this ship, and he couldn’t have gotten too far. We just have to think, where would we go if we were a feral womp rat?”
Jerjerrod was not accustomed to entering this mindset. He tried to remember Piett’s instructions. Then, it dawned on him.
“The trash compactor is around here, isn’t it?” he said. “You don’t think he’d have gone after the Dianoga?”
As if to answer Jerjerrod’s question, a chorus of frantic screeching echoed down the hall. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jerjerrod set off in the direction of the noise.
Elsewhere in the galaxy, Piett looked out the viewport and heaved a sigh. It was a shame to have to end his vacation early, but he’d had no choice. Vader had grown especially ill-tempered without his favorite Emotional Support Captain. The bridge crew feared for their lives if Piett was gone for any longer.
“Try to look on the bright side, sailor,” Veers wrapped an arm around Piett. “We’ll be getting back to Whiskers sooner, and I’m sure he misses you.”
Piett perked up at the mention of his little angel. He’d gotten a new ribbon and a traditional Denonian hat for Whiskers. The sweet thing would look so adorable in both.
“I suppose that’s true,” Piett said. “I do hope he’s been alright while we’re gone.”
“I’m sure he’s just fine.” Veers stroked Piett’s back reassuringly. “You worry too much.”
“Do you see anything?”
“It’s very dark in here, Conan.” Jerjerrod peered down into the trash compactor as Motti held up the lid. “And it smells horrible.”
He could still hear Whiskers’s screeching echoing from the chamber below. At least that meant the creature was still alive.
Jerjerrod glimpsed the outlines of metal pieces jutting out. Something was thrashing about in the water, creating a torrent of violent splashing. Jerjerrod thought he saw blood. Horrified, he leaned further for a closer look…
Until he tumbled headfirst into the trash compactor.
Jerjerrod landed with a loud splash and a scream like a TIE Fighter engine. He flailed in the murky water before realizing he could stand. The reassurance that he would not drown was little comfort, however. He was still soaked in filth and trapped with a potentially hungry Dianoga.
Something moved behind him. Jerjerrod jumped. He whipped around to see Whiskers perched on a piece of scrap metal, staring at Jerjerrod with a jubilant gleam in his eyes. There was something limp and bloody in his mouth: a fleshy stalk with a single eye and a bit of tentacles hanging off.
Well, at least Jerjerrod no longer had to worry about the Dianoga.
“Tiaan, hang on! I’m coming for you!”
Before Jerjerrod could stop him, Motti leapt down after him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jerjerrod exclaimed. “Now, we’re both trapped!”
“I’m protecting you from the Dianoga!” Motti looked, brandishing his blaster. “Where is it? Did it hurt you?”
At this, Whiskers let out a triumphant squeak. Scampering atop the scrap metal, he brought over his kill to show a dumbfounded Motti.
“Well, Piett really wasn’t kidding about him being destructive,” Motti said.
“Oh, Conan, this is beyond dreadful.” Jerjerrod was at his wits’ end. “I don’t know how I’m going to get this stench out of my hair. It’s appalling. All of this is appalling.”
“We’ll be alright, Ti,” Motti said. “We just need to contact the emergency response troopers. They’ll get us out. It isn’t as if we’re the first people to fall into a trash compactor, and I doubt we’ll be the last.”
He reached into his uniform pocket and frowned.
“Uh, do you happen to have your datapad on you, Tiaan?” he asked.
“No, no.” Jerjerrod shook his head. “I left it behind when I ran out after that accursed rat!”
“Ah, that might be a bit of an issue.” Motti put his hands on his hips. “Well, surely someone’s going to come around here. We’ll call for help, and they’ll get us out.”
“No, sound doesn’t carry well from the trash compactors,” Jerjerrod said despairingly. “They’re one of the most insulated compartments of the ship. It could be hours before someone realizes we’re gone. And… oh Conan, what if Lord Vader finds out? He’ll know we let the rat escape, and he’ll murder us both for it! What if he blames poor Firmus too? Oh, I shouldn’t have left the door open. Everything’s a horrible mess.”
Now, there were moments in Jerjerrod’s life when the universe saw fit to expand what constituted a “horrible mess”. This happened to be one of them. As soon as the phrase had left his lips, the trash compactor lurched, and the walls began to close in.
“Oh kriff,” Motti cursed. “Quick! Look for something we can use to climb out!”
“It all looks unstable!” Jerjerrod shrieked. “Oh, stars. We’re going to die. We’re going to die surrounded by rancid debris and squalid water with a literal sewer rat…”
Whiskers squeaked in offense. Running along the edge of a metal rod, the rat traversed the tower of trash. He perched at the pinnacle, still holding the Dianoga head. There, he looked down at Jerjerrod and, with a chatter that sounded far too much like a malevolent chuckle, disappeared out the garbage chute.
“Traitor!” Motti shouted after the rodent. “I spoon-fed you gelato, dammit! Get back here!”
But Whiskers was already long gone.
Lieutenant Venka was waiting for Piett’s shuttle. The moment the ship arrived, he dashed up the ramp.
“Thank the Emperor you’re back!” he cried. “Vader’s been on a rampage ever since you left. He was about to nominate me as his Temporary Emotional Support Lieutenant if you were away much longer.”
“Right,” Piett said, his eyes already weary and resigned. Whatever reprieve he’d gotten from Veers’s rock throwing victory and the festivities thereafter was rapidly fading. “We’re just going to pick up Whiskers from Captain Jerjerrod and Captain Motti, and then I’ll report to the bridge.”
“Did you inform Jerjerrod that we’re back early?” Veers asked. “It’s dangerous to enter those two’s quarters unannounced.”
“I did, but he hasn’t responded,” Piett replied. “It’s strange. He’s usually very punctual checking his messages. I do hope…”
Piett’s voice trailed off as he glimpsed a furry form running towards him. There was something in Whiskers’s mouth. Something bloody. Something with tentacles.
“Well, looks like he got into the trash compactor,” Veers said with a chuckle. “You know I’m almost starting to feel bad for those Dianogas.”
“My poor baby!” Piett scooped up the rat from the ground. “No, don’t eat that. Drop it. Drop it now. Max, can you get the severed head out of his mouth? Whiskers, my angel, you must drop it. You don’t know where that Dianoga has been!”
After a brief tug-of-war, Veers extricated the Dianoga head from Whiskers’s jaws.
“Can you hold this for just a bit?” Without waiting for a response, Veers handed the head to Venka and went over to pet the rat. “You’re a wild one, aren’t you? You’re going to need a bath after this.”
Whiskers ignored the pets and stared intently at Piett. There was a sense of urgency about his chattering.
“Something’s wrong,” Piett said. He held up Whiskers and looked the rodent in the eye. “Where are Jerjerrod and Motti?”
Whiskers screeched and flicked his nose towards the nearest waste basket.
“Oh no.” Piett turned to Venka. “Lieutenant, tell the Disposal Troopers to shut down all the trash compactors and prepare an extraction crew! It’s urgent!”
He set Whiskers on the ground and petted him on the head.
“Alright, baby,” Piett said. “Show us where they are.”
“I didn’t think it would end this way,” Motti said. “I always thought I’d go out hunting Krayt Dragons in a bet against General Veers or mocking Vader’s religion during a board meeting.”
If not for their imminent demise, Jerjerrod would have asked how Motti had conjured up those two oddly specific scenarios. For now, he just lay against Motti’s shoulder, exhausted from their thirty failed attempts to climb out and still aching from Motti’s five failed attempts to throw him out.
“I suppose it could be worse,” Jerjerrod said, though he didn’t know how. “We did survive many years working in direct contact with Lord Vader without getting throttled to death. One could consider that an achievement. And well, besides that… if this is how we are to die, I’m glad to spend my last moments with you, even if we do happen to be surrounded by garbage and waist-deep in putrid water.”
Motti answered with a passionate kiss. Jerjerrod closed his eyes, hoping to block out the distinctly unromantic ambiance, but the stench still stung his nose.
“Is this really the place for…” Jerjerrod’s complaining dissolved into a soft sigh.
“One last time, Tiaan,” Motti murmured.
It was then that the trash compactor walls stilled. The two lovers parted and looked up to see Piett and Veers peering down at them, alongside a crew of Disposal Troopers. Piett held Whiskers in his arms. The rats’ whiskers twitched with distaste at the display.
“Why is it always a romcom with you two?” Veers shook his head. “Even in the trash compactor. You two are hopeless.”
Ten baths, eight bottles of cologne and three rejuvenating spa treatments later, Jerjerrod had finally recovered from the grime of the trash compactor enough to appear in public. Presently, he was seated across from Piett at a Corellian café while the Executor docked for refueling.
Whiskers sat in Piett’s lap contentedly eating a plate of fine biscuits while his human parent settled for black caf. The rat had gotten a medal for saving the lives of two officers. Apparently, Lord Vader did not care that the rodent had endangered said officers to begin with.
“I’m sorry Whiskers got out while we were watching him,” Jerjerrod said.
“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry he made you fall into the compactor.” Piett smiled lovingly at the rat. “He can be a little mischievous at times. He did the same to Needa.”
“Oh.” Jerjerrod cringed at the thought of Needa floundering about in a pool of detritus. “Poor Needa. I hope he was alright.”
“He was fine. He said his foster taunlet actually liked the smell and was disappointed when it went away.” Piett chuckled. “But really, I am very sorry about what happened to you and Motti.”
“Well, it’s over.” Jerjerrod hesitated. “And I trust that Needa will be available next time you’re planning on going away.”
“I don’t know when that will be, but yes, Needa is our usual rat-sitter. That said, Whiskers is very fond of you.”
“Is he really?”
Jerjerrod watched the rat uneasily. He still didn’t see any sign of fondness in those beady eyes.
“Of course!” Piett beamed. “He wouldn’t have bothered fetching us to help you if he didn’t like you. He’s a very selective rat, you see. So, he’d have left most people for dead. That’s what he did with Venka once!”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” Jerjerrod couldn’t think of anything else polite to say.
“So, I’ve spoken with Motti, and you two will be on our list of sitters in the event that Needa is unavailable.” Piett announced the news happily. “So, there’s a good chance Whiskers will get to stay with you again in the future. Wouldn’t you like that sweetie?”
Piett kissed the rat on the forehead to emphasize the point. Whiskers glanced at Jerjerrod warily. Jerjerrod forced a smile. They’d manage a truce for now.
When Jerjerrod returned to his quarters, he found Motti waiting. He was grinning from ear-to-ear in a way that immediately made Jerjerrod suspicious. The large box with airholes sitting atop the caf table gave further cause for concern.
“I have a surprise for you, darling,” Motti said. “Given how splendidly we did with Whiskers, I thought it was about time we got a fur baby of our own.”
Jerjerrod drew in a deep breath and mustered up his strength for the inevitable argument.
“Motti, I know your opinion of rats as pets differs from mine,” he said. “I will concede to have the occasional visit from Whiskers out of my fondness for Firmus and my willingness to indulge your antics, but that is where I draw the line. I refuse to live out day after day with one of those rodents. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find another place for it to stay. I’m sure Firmus would be delighted for Whiskers to have a sibling if you asked him. If not, I’m sure Needa can find a suitable animal charity.”
“Won’t you even look in the box, Tiaan?” Motti strode over and took Jerjerrod’s hand in his own. “Please?”
Jerjerrod gave a pointed humph and inched over to the box. Preparing to defend himself against a feral rodent, he lifted the lid.
Inside was a tiny grey Tinnelian shorthair. The kitten awoke, yawned, and peered up at her parents. Jerjerrod’s heart melted.
Then the kitten lunged.
Jerjerrod fell backwards onto the floor. Tiny claws assailed his face. With a shout of alarm, Motti rushed forward and quickly placed the mewling kitten back in her box.
“Tiaan!” Motti helped the fallen captain up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Jerjerrod was positively glowing. Tears of joy streaked down his face. He wiped one away, giving little care about the streaks of blood. “I think I’ll call her Angel.”