Star Wars: On the Job

Chapter 4: Unwanted

"Song mites" were the most despised words of any starship captain, ranking in third place right behind "hyperdrive failure" and "life-support fluctuation." They were an infestation on par with a disease, feeding on ambient dust particles, breeding, and invading every cold metal crevice they could find. In addition to being disgusting, six-legged specks the size of a grain of rice, song mites were mildly toxic, causing rashes if they made contact with the skin of most species. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was what they did when their numbers grew large enough to form a colony or two... or seven... or seventy.

Kanan and Hera retreated to the catwalk overlooking the cargo hold. He leaned over the railing, clutching his shirt in one hand. They held their breaths and listened. The hum of the Ghost's hyperdrive reverberated smoothly through the ship like a heartbeat. But beneath the mechanical whirrs was another sound, a low whine rising and falling with the ship's rhythms.

...wiiiinn... wiiiinn... wiiiinn...

Kanan's lip curled over his teeth. He had encountered song mites once before. A tramp vessel headed from one backwater system to another had had a mad case of them– and the captain had had a mad case of not caring. The ship was home to billions of the miniscule monsters. The noise they made was so nerve-shattering that all the passengers had stuffed their various audial receptors with scraps of cloth and huddled down with their hands over their heads for the journey. Not that it had done much good. Nothing could block out that sound completely. Kanan remembered slumping against a wall, exhausted from the hellacious noise, only to have it crumble into metallic dust behind him thanks to the vibratory damage. That's when the mites had gotten into his clothes and given him a vicious rash alongside an increase in volume. The weeks following Order 66 notwithstanding, the two days he'd spent on that freighter had been some of the longest of Kanan's life.

Now hearing the whispers of that unbearable noise oscillate through the cargo hold of the Ghost, he looked at Hera. "We have to kill them."

Hera's eyes widened a fraction as if she was picturing Kanan burning down the Ghost along with the noisome pests. "First thing's first," she said calmly. "Are they contained to the cargo area?"

He glowered down on the shamble of containers. "They should be. If they'd hitched a ride on us from this morning we'd be itching all over by now."

"Well, that means they're contained at least," she said, but her tone wasn't comforting.

Kanan frowned and shook his head. "They must have woken up when we passed those neutron stars. Song mites love radiation. That's why they're attracted to ships."

"So they were sleeping with the cargo the whole time." Hera set her hip against the railing and gestured at the slanting towers and skewed passageways. "We're going to have to give the whole ship a bacta bath, aren't we? There goes our paycheck."

Kanan's eyes went sharp as he stroked his beard. "Maybe not," he said.

Hera turned to face him, but her eyes soon returned to the cargo hold. "What do you have in mind?"

"What if we only gave the cargo hold a bath?" he asked. "A really cold one?"

Hera lifted an eyebrow. "Blow the airlock? It'd be too risky in hyperspace, but once we get to Husera we could crack the door. The cargo will get shifted, but that's not really an issue anymore." She rubbed the back of her fist over her forehead. "There's not enough atmo in the system to replenish this room before we land. We'll have to clean it up planet-side before we make the delivery."

"It's better than the alternative," he said cringing as a long wiiiiinnn rose and fell like a far off siren.

With a huffed sigh, Hera said, "In the meantime we'll seal off the hold and hope nothing else crazy happens for the next five hours."