Chapter Text
Captain Firmus Piett ducked under a low beam as he entered the maintenance shaft, the soft whirs of mouse droids and hums of the many electrical panels greeting him. The maze of corridors and low, narrow alleys that made up the Executor's inner workings were more familiar to him than the long, polished hallways and hangars where the rest of the Imperial Forces patrolled. Occasionally he'll see Engineering, but most of his companions for his shifts are his crew and the droids.
Being stuck in the gutterworks of a Super Star Destroyer hadn't been the dream he had in mind when he’d first been conscripted from the Anti-Pirate Fleet to the Imperial Navy, but the bureaucratic humdrum and elbow-rubbing had bogged down his advancements from the very start. Certainly he may be captain now, but no one was going to put an Outer-Rim nobody in the same league with the rest of the class and good ol’ boys of the Core Worlds- especially on Lord Vader's flagship- so the rank meant very little compared to other captains on board.
Still, he made the most of it, unafraid to get his hands and boots dirty alongside his ragtag crew of social pariahs. He wasn't commanding a ship, but he was helping keep everything running smoothly. There was no glory, no fights with Rebels, or gala invites while down in the bowels. The only glory they saw was patching communication relays from the stern to the helm after someone overtaxed the system and short circuited an entire panel's motherboard before the bridge crew found out, their fights were with mucking out the trash compactors' mechanisms and the gunk that kept forever creeping through the gaps in the blast doors with the supposed help of the rumored trash monster, and the closest thing to a gala Piett would ever get to was the lyrics of The Raunchy Jaunty that was currently echoing down the tunnels from further within the depths.
Piett suppressed a smile as he tucked the datapad under his arm, stepping over a zipping mouse droid as he followed the singing.
"O the Raunchy Jaunty were a formidable crew,
And they slew them slavers two by two!
They jaunted and raunched and sauntered aroun',
O them boys brought those Huttsies down!"
If this had been anywhere else on the Executor, Piett would have reprimanded the singer. There was a minimal list of "acceptable" songs that the Imperial Forces regulated- a backwater shanty wasn't even close to being allowed. Yet in the maintenance corridors, there was significant insulation between the quiet walkways and the busy halls of the ship proper that he wasn't worried of the rather inappropriate lyrics escaping to the general public. Not that he'd be listened to even if he did write the infraction up- the singer was quite notorious in having zero shame and zero self-preservation to the point where regaling the entire saga of a pirate crew turning revolutionists against the Hutts to Darth Vader himself wasn't off the books.
"Brave twenty-eight bastards went to war,
They thrashed the 'Tels both near and far,
Them slugs oh they turned putrid green,
Bestowed the highest bounty y'all've seen!"
The voice was getting louder. Piett pausing to let an ambling cleaning droid past before he continued on. He was higher up in the ship than they usually worked- possibly the closest he’s been to the bridge to date- so the corridors were much cleaner, although still as narrow and chaotic as the lower decks. He stopped to hang up a drooping wire bundle while the song pitched high as the pirates managed to thwart several bounty hunters and recruited a pleasure slave they freed along the way. He made a note to have someone double check the wires for broken hooks on this deck- the last thing anyone needed was a cable rubbing itself to oblivion from improper routing.
The song warbled on to announce another resounding victory against the Cartels before the death of their Captain by Orga the Hutt by the time Piett's journey ended at the bottom of a ventilation grate, the voice echoing through the tight space from within the pipework. He took the time to tug on the hem of his coat, straightening himself up as a proper commanding officer should.
"O the Raunchy Jaunty came for tit to tat
And squashed that mother kriff’n’ slug flat!"
Piett rapped his knuckles against the metal near the grate to announce his presence.
The song was cut short by a loud thunk followed by scrambling as bright glowing green eyes peered down from the opening.
"Captain!"
"Junior Lieutenant Haza," he greeted, neatly giving space for the singer to drop down from the vents. Junior Lieutenant Iza Haza was a tiny woman, barely reaching Piett's shoulders. She had a natural tanned complexion regardless of how little natural sun the crew saw, and spoke with a cadence of the overly-populated Mid-Rim planet of Lexrul. Normally that would be enough to get her out of the gutterworks and into a nice office somewhere, but her shortcomings came in the form that her father was an Iridonian Zabrak, and while at a distance she appeared human, upon closer inspection things started to look out of place. She lacked the facial tattoos, but she had the horns which she hid under a crown of white braids she wrapped around her head that was toeing the line of improper regulation and stuffed under the uniform's cap, which was haphazardly lopsided on her head after she had rammed it into the top of the vents. Haza's eyes also glowed in the semi-darkness like a hunting nexu, which was easy to hide in most situations, as most Academies were lit with bright, stark lighting and there were very few lights-out mission simulators to tip speculation for the everyday student.
She couldn't hide the two hearts from her medical file, or the species listed in her personnel record, however. She was lucky she made it off planet at all, but perhaps they thought the quick turnover rate on the Executor will take care of the unsightly problem without getting their own hands dirty.
Haza didn't bother to fix her uniform, giving Piett a happy salute and a grin that displayed her sharp canines. Piett hid his fond, but exasperated smile from the young girl, wondering not for the first time how she managed to graduate the Academy and get promoted past Ensign. She wasn't the only mixed heritage in his crew, but she was certainly the spunkiest. Hiding in the vents was possibly the only thing keeping her alive- both from stuck up admiralty and from her own brand of recklessness.
"Long time no see, Cap'n'!" Haza grinned, barely refraining from bouncing on her toes. "I've completed the rerouting of the security lines!"
"Very good." Piett removed the datapad from under his arm, a few quick taps to the screen before turning it around. Haza grabbed the stylus and signed the request with a flourish, allowing the Captain to send the completed flimsiwork off. "Now, I don't need to remind you that you should keep your… illicit songs, out of the main hallways and cafeterias."
"Pff, of course not!" She had the audacity to scoff and roll her eyes, earning her a reproachful look from Piett, which she ignored. "The only ones who enjoy my caterwauling is you, the crew, and the hallowed halls of the Executor, sir! No need to share all my talents with the rest of the ship."
"See you do not get put into the brig for insubordination, Junior Lieutenant," Piett warned, datapad back under his arm. "Fortunately, your expertise is needed on Deck Esk. Apparently a mouse droid got dumped into one of the trash chutes in Corridor VI and has- somehow- been sending distress signals directly to my pad for the last hour. Ensign Mycalith will be there to assist you."
Ensign Mycalith was one of his other mixed heritage crew members, although much more subtle than Haza’s own. He too had been thrown into the gutterworks with the thought of keeping him out of sight and out of mind prevailing the ruling. He was also much quieter and more rule-abiding than Haza, which would hopefully temper the exuberance from the Junior Lieutenant a few degrees and prevent her from doing something stupid, like sliding down the entirety of the trash chute and go junk diving in the compactor.
"I'll step right to it, sir! Do you want me to send a parts request form to you afterwards? The hardware on these grates sheared off as soon as I looked at them."
"No need," Piett decided to be charitable to Haza, and that it would also be more time efficient. "I'll take care of the forms and send someone down to reinstall the grate. You're dismissed."
Haza grinned, giving him another cheeky salute before picking up her toolbag and sauntering down the corridor towards the access stairs, starting up another tune that began as soon as she turned around.
"Ohhh the Admiral likes to dine on fiiiine wiiine,
But we sit here eating gruel like we're doiiing tiiiime-"
Piett shook his head as he went the same direction as he came, letting the Sith Wars Era's lyrics of The Admiral's Mistress flow over him as he marched back towards the exit.
"...And they smile and laugh and she bats her pretty lash,
But at least I can bend MY girl over and get a good ol' bash!"
In Conference Room 3A, the table of distinguished officers sat completely frozen as if time had stopped, the only signs of life being the rhythmic rasp of Darth Vader's respirator and the echo of yet another Outer-Rim tune reverberating from the circulation vents as quickly as the first one died. Admiral Ozzel's face was already a shade of puce and was quickly darkening at an alarming rate. General Veers' expression was stoically flat, but only because if he so much as twitched he would go down howling. The rest of the officers were either flicking looks towards each other or staring at the stark still Sith Lord with unrepressed terror.
The song eventually moved out of range, the hum of the air circulation units overpowering the room once more. It was another thirty seconds before Vader slowly turned towards one of the unfortunate officers seated close by, reminding them all of the meeting they had been sitting for.
"As you were, Captain Kest."
Captain Kest nearly fainted.