On board the Alliance Nebulon-B Class Frigate, the Rehz'nor, Kevin "Raptor" Clayborn finished toweling himself off and stepped from the fresher into his quarters. He opened his locker and shook his head. "Where are my clean uniforms?" he wondered. The laundry orderly usually had his jumpsuits back and hanging in his locker before he finished his shower.
As he was closing the locker door he saw a rumpled package on the floor next to his duffel bag. He snatched up the package and tore open the stained paper. "What the..." he began. Inside the package was a single jumpsuit folded like a dress shirt. He began pulling pins out of the uniform and tried to shake it out so he could put it on.
The material was extremely stiff and rough-feeling. He forced the zipper open and struggled into the jumpsuit. The synth-fabric seemed to be glued together and yielded only to extreme effort. Looking in the mirror confirmed Raptor's fear. His arms and legs extended inches beyond the cuffs. He started to take the uniform off but realized he had dropped all his other uniforms into the laundry chute before he had gotten into the fresher. "We'll see about this!" he thundered and headed down to the Rehz'nor laundry.
Raptor took the turbo-lift down to maintenance levels of the Alliance frigate. He stepped out of the lift and was almost bowled over by two of the deck crew who were wheeling empty handtrucks down the corridor. "Gang way!" they shouted. Raptor's too small uniform was chafing him something fierce and his mood was deteriorating fast.
He rounded the corner and stepped through the hatchway into the ship's laundry. The room was a beehive of activity. Workmen were removing part of the inner bulkhead, opening the laundry to the frigate's number 4 cargo hold. Sparks from a plasma welder showered across the floor as the crewmen he had passed by the turbo-lift came barreling through the entry behind him with their handtrucks, this time piled high with crates. "Where do you want this stuff, Captain?" one of the burly deck hands shouted.
A tall figure came out from behind a stack of packing cases that all bore the SBI logo of Strongbow Industries. "Over there," he said, pointing to the back of the laundry. Raptor glanced in the direction the man indicated and blinked. Where the ship's automated cleaning machinery should have been located were a crew of workmen building what looked like a tavern bar under the direction of a black furred alien. "Just check with Felix and he'll show you where you can store that liquor."
Raptor took a good look at the man directing all this activity. He wore a Green squadron uniform that fit a lot better than Raptor's fit him at the moment. Raptor recognized him at once. "Raven," he muttered. He strode over and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me Captain, but you want to tell me what you're doing here and what exactly is going on?"
Raven smiled and shook Raptor's hand. "You bet!" He pulled a flask from his back pocket and offered it. "Drink?"
"Captain, it's oh-eight hundred. Morning. I have a patrol at oh-eight-thirty hours and I am not happy. My uniform..."
Raven stepped back and looked the Green fighter pilot over. "Raptor," he grinned, "you look great." He clapped Raptor on the back then glanced at his hand as he rubbed his now sticky fingers together. "Hmmm, perhaps a bit too much starch. I'll speak to my staff. They're still learning the ropes."
Raptor's jaw dropped. "What are you talking about? Where are the laundry machines? Does Minuteman know what you're doing down here?"
"Remodeling, dude. The laundry equipment was bulky and needed a lot of maintenance. So I, er, salvaged it. We're putting in a real hand-laundry. It'll be great. C'mere, I'll show you." Raven led the way towards the cargo hold, which was also stacked high with crates all marked with the SBI logo. In a cramped corner were a number of cauldrons filled with boiling liquids. Four Ranats and a number of Jawas were stirring the large kettles with wooden paddles. They had to stand on their tip-toes to reach over the rims somewhat hindered by the iron rings around their middles which were attached to chains hooked to the floors. "Keeps them from falling in the pots," Raven said cheerfully when he noticed Raptor's horrified look. "Can't have my crew drowning during the rinse cycle can we?"
The laundry chute had been moved and now dropped clothes onto a small mountain growing in the cargo hold where some hapless Jawas were sorting things into smaller piles. Suspended from the overhead above the makeshift laundry was an enormous furred creature. It swayed upside down, slowly moving back and forth in time to the chanting of the Ranats and the rhythmic stirring of the giant cauldrons. At their approach the creature stopped and turned its head towards them cocked to one side giving it a quizzical expression. Greenish-black eyes regarded them and its jaws parted to reveal a double row of sharp, curved, fangs. "Rory, they're using too much starch again." Raven looked at Raptor's uniform with a critical eye. "And they're leaving them in the dryer too long," he added.
Rory turned to where several Ranats were hanging jumpsuits over a bed of hot coals and hissed. The Ranats began to scurry and pull the laundry off the lines. Raven smiled at the renewed activity and leaned back against more of the SBI crates that were stacked floor to ceiling.
Raptor felt as if he had fallen through the looking glass. "Raven, what is this all about?" He tried to get a grip on his temper. "Why the Ranats, why all the SBI merchandise? What kind of scam are you running here?"
Raven looked around with an innocent expression, "What SBI merchandise?" he asked earnestly. "I'm the Rehz'nor's new Laundry and Morale Officer." With that he pinned a small button on Raptor's lapel. It was green and bore a small smiley face with the words "Keep Smiling" on it.
