#ponchos

“I understand and accept that five years on Bracca has ruined your sense of smell, but me and Cere? Ours is fine. And as such, we can smell that little poncho selection of yours no matter what we do. So, the following are your options – get rid of them all and we’ll find you a nice new one in a store that doesn’t sell actual biohazards.”

“Not happening.”

BD backs him up with a rude squeal.

Hands held up in a pacifying gesture, Greez waits for silence. “Or you stay out there and do some laundry.”

The sky overhead is thick with the promise of a snowstorm. Cal’s hands are cold and stiff from his journey across Zeffo. He’s tired and hungry, thoughts of dinner getting him through the lengthy journey back to the ship. He doesn’t particularly want to stay outside, but he also refuses to give up a single one of his ponchos. They’re his. All of them. He found them, and sure, maybe some are coated in mildew, and others have a smell he can’t quite get rid of, but none of them are actual biohazards…

…are they?

“Are they?” he asks BD.

BD’s scans suggest a couple might host bacteria unsafe for most organics, and while he has no capacity to smell, scans would indicate unpleasant odours would be a side effect of said bacteria.

“Fine,” Cal says. “I guess it’s laundry day.”

Greez’s ominous laugh echoes down from the ship. “I knew you’d say that.” He returns with a large container (honestly, it’s large enough to stuff Greez himself into). “Fill this with water. I’ve got various detergents to clean these things up.”

“I do wash them!” Cal insists.

“With appropriate laundry detergents, or with soap when you shower? Or does going for a swim in a poncho count as washing them?”

Opting for tactical silence, Cal places the new poncho into the container and plods onto the ship with it. He fills the container in the shower as it won’t fit under the sink, then lugs it back outside. He places it down and returns to the engine room to fetch all his ponchos. He puts them all inside.

“Now, watch a master at work.” Greez adds a blend of detergents and something called fabric conditioner to the water. It all sounds like a waste of credits to Cal. Greez also adds an entire bottle of disinfectant and gives the whole barrel a mix with a stick. “We’re gonna let this stew for a while before you heft it all back inside and stick them in the machine to spin. After that, we’ll bring them back out here to air dry. Might take a while, given how cold it is, but it will help with the stench.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Worse.”

“I’m sorry, Greez.”

Greez looks up from his stirring. “Why do you always make me feel so bad about stuff, even when you’re in the wrong and I’m definitely in the right?”

BD suggests it’s a Jedi thing. Cal smiles. “I didn’t mean to,” he offers.

“See? There you go doing it again. Listen, kid, honestly, I wish you wouldn’t bring back stuff you find on these planets. I’m sure we can find you something during a supply run. However, I get that you like them and therefore you gotta meet me midway – keep ‘em, but clean ‘em. Properly. None of your wash your clothes while you shower or swim nonsense. And if you’re taking a breath to tell me that’s how it was done on Bracca, I do not wanna know.”

Cal breathes out and closes his mouth.

“You don’t have to live like you’re a credit away from financial ruin. We’re not multimillionaires, but we’re not broke. And if you don’t know how to use the machine, ask. I’m not gonna judge.”

“Thanks, Greez.”

“And maybe don’t stuff wet clothes into a box under your bed.”

“But – ”

“Ah! What did I say about Bracca?”

“You don’t wanna know.”