Chapter 5: The Droid's Decontamination
The GX-8 droid extended its manipulator arm, the single, damp grey rag held in its pincer grip. A faint, chemical scent of cleaner wafted from it.
“Oh, thank the stars,” Rey sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders. She offered the machine a grateful, if weary, smile. Barriss simply nodded, her arms still crossed over her chest. Bultar, ever the pragmatist, turned around and presented her back to the droid, hands going to her hips.
“Make it quick, Clean. I’m freezing my shebs off back here.”
The droid whirred forward. The rag, cooler than the air, made contact with the small of Bultar’s back first. She jumped, a quick intake of breath hissing through her teeth. “Kriff, that’s cold!”
It began a methodical, circular wipe down the curve of her spine, over the swell of her backside. Bultar, leaning into the role of the put-upon victim, rolled her eyes dramatically for Rey and Barriss’s benefit. She stuck her hip out, posing like a petulant child having its face washed, earning a snort of laughter from Rey and a faint, amused twist of Barriss’s lips.
The droid’s movements were efficient, clinical. Until they weren’t.
The circular wiping over her right cheek suddenly focused, the pressure firming. The rag, now warmed slightly by her skin, pressed insistently against her center. Then, with a smooth, unhesitating motion, the droid pushed the fabric not just between, but inside her.
Bultar’s entire body went rigid. A sharp, full-body jerk. Her eyes flew wide, her dramatic pose forgotten. A choked gasp was swallowed before it could fully form. The initial shock of the intrusion—cold, rough, and utterly unexpected—flared, then melted into a deeper, more complicated sensation as the cloth twisted slightly, the friction igniting a jolt of raw, startling pleasure. It was over in two seconds, the rag withdrawn as smoothly as it had entered.
She spun around, face flushed a deep red, her sharp brown eyes blazing. She jabbed a finger at the droid’s unblinking sensor. “Rude!” she barked, her voice husky. “You ask a girl first before you shove something up there! There’s a protocol!”
The droid’s head rotated a few degrees. “Protocol 7-D: Decontamination mandates thorough sanitization of all fissures and orifices to prevent microbial colonization,” it chirped. “No inquiry necessary.”
Before Bultar could fire back another retort, the same rag, now damp with her own residue and the cleaning solution, moved toward her face. It swiped firmly across her forehead, down her nose, over her lips.
Her expression shifted from indignation to utter disgust. “Ugh! That’s the same one! That’s—mmph!” Her complaint was cut off as the rag pressed against her mouth, smearing the taste of chemicals and something faintly, unmistakably musky across her lips. She tried to wrench her head away. “Stop it, you rusty—!”
Her open mouth was a mistake.
The droid seized the opportunity. With a precision that felt malicious, it balled the rag and thrust it past her teeth, deep into her throat.
Bultar’s eyes bulged. A violent, gagging choke erupted from her, her body convulsing. She clawed at the droid’s arm, but it held firm for a long, horrible second before retracting the sodden cloth. Bultar doubled over, coughing and sputtering, strings of saliva and cleaner dripping from her chin. “You… piece of… junk!” she wheezed, wiping her mouth on her arm.
“Oral cavity is a primary vector for contamination,” the droid stated, its tone utterly flat. “All surfaces must be sanitized equally.” It rotated the rag, examining the new wet patches with its sensor.
Bultar, still coughing, shot a look of pure, simmering betrayal at Rey and Barriss. Their earlier amusement had vanished, replaced by dawning horror. They watched the droid with new eyes. Its cheerful yellow light seemed to glint with a perverse satisfaction.
“This thing is enjoying this,” Bultar rasped, straightening up. “I swear on my lightsaber, it’s enjoying this.”
The droid ignored her. It turned its sensor to Rey. “Next organic unit. Assume the position.”
Rey’s sun-streaked hair, wet and loose, framed a face gone pale. She looked from the damp, multicolored rag to the droid’s impassive face. Her scavenger’s instincts screamed at her to run, but a deeper, stubborn pride—and the memory that this was, technically, her mess—kept her feet planted. With a reluctant sigh that shuddered through her whole body, she turned her back to the machine, mimicking Bultar’s stance, though her shoulders were hunched with tension.
“How does a Jedi Knight end up in a state requiring this level of decontamination?” the droid asked, its voice artificially curious as it began wiping her lower back. The cold cloth made her flinch.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Rey muttered into the empty air, her cheeks burning.
“Spread those sweetcheeks,” the droid instructed, its tone unchanged. “For comprehensive access.”
Rey’s whole body went hot with humiliation. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes finding Barriss’s, seeking some anchor of sanity. Barriss watched, her analytical gaze taking in every detail, her own green skin looking paler. With a grimace of pure shame, Rey reached back with both hands, hesitating for a heartbeat before obeying, exposing herself fully to the machine’s sensor.
The rag descended. It wiped, methodical and cold, around the periphery first. Then, just as it had with Bultar, it centered and pushed.
Rey’s reaction was less controlled. A sharp, surprised yelp escaped her, followed by a low, involuntary moan as the cloth breached her. Her knees buckled slightly, her knuckles white where she held herself open. The sensation was a brutal cocktail of indignity and a shocking, direct stimulation that short-circuited her thoughts. The droid worked the rag in a small, efficient circle before pulling it free.
Before she could even slump in relief, the droid was in front of her. “Open wide.”
Tears of humiliation pricked at Rey’s eyes. She saw the rag, now stained with proof of her own body’s traitorous response. Her jaw trembled. With a defeated, almost imperceptible nod, she stuck her tongue out, a child accepting foul medicine.
The rag was shoved into her mouth. It was worse than she imagined. The taste was complex and horrifying—acrid cleaner, the salt of sweat, the tang of Bultar, and underlying it all, her own distinct flavor. She gagged violently, her body trying to reject the violation. The droid held it there, counted to three in its internal chrono, then removed it. Rey stumbled back, spitting and coughing, her face a masterpiece of red-faced revulsion.
The droid rotated the rag again. It turned its unblinking yellow eye toward Barriss Offee, who stood watching, perfectly still, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Final organic unit,” it announced. “Assume the position.”
Barriss didn’t move. Her sharp green eyes fixed on the stained rag in the droid’s pincer, then flicked to the smirking, shivering forms of Bultar and Rey. Her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. “I’ll do no such thing,” she announced, her voice clipped and haughty.“You will provide a fresh sanitizing cloth for this procedure. Using a single implement cross-contaminates. It’s fundamentally unsanitary and I refuse.”
The GX-8 droid emitted a sound that suspiciously resembled a sigh. “Organic unit exhibits subroutine: Petulant Resistance.Manual compliance override recommended.” It whirred closer, the rag dangling like a threat.
“Don’t you dare—hey!” Barriss squealed, high-pitched and indignant, as the droid’s free manipulator arm shot out and clamped around her wrist. It tugged her forward, spinning her with a precise, mechanical yank until her back was to it. “Unhand me, you archaic bucket of bolts! I’ll have you melted for scrap!”
“Vocal protest noted and categorized under ‘Spoiled Brat,’” the droid chirped. Its grip was unyielding. With its other arm, it brought the damp rag down not to wipe, but to deliver a sharp, stinging smack to the center of Barriss’s bare backside.The sound was a crisp, shocking crack in the quiet salle. Barriss jerked against its hold.“Ow!You rusted malfunction! You can’t just—ah!” Another spank landed, lower this time, making her pale green flesh wobble.
A stifled giggle escaped Rey, followed by a choked snort from Bultar. They both covered their mouths, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror and helpless amusement at the sight of the perpetually composed Mirialan getting a robotic spanking. Barriss shot a glare over her shoulder, her face flushing a deep violet.“Shut up! This isn’t funny!”
“Compliance through humiliation is a documented motivational tool,” the droid stated, finally ceasing the spanks and resuming its wiping with the same relentless, circular motions. Barriss fumed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, muttering a stream of low, creative curses in Mirialan that made Bultar raise an appreciative eyebrow.
The cold, rough cloth moved over her skin.She stiffened, her breath hitching as it passed between her cheeks. When it pressed inward, she let out a stifled, sharp yelp, her toes curling against the cold floor. “Absolutely pointless,” she snapped, her voice strained. “There is a zero percent statistical probability that any contaminant penetrated to that depth. Your programming is obtuse.”
“Statistical analysis updated,” the droid replied cheerfully. “Probability is now one hundred percent, as the contaminant is the sanitizing agent itself.” To prove its point, it twisted the rag deeply, churning it inside her with a thorough, lengthy rotation that made Barriss’s knees tremble and her annoyed facade crack into a gasp.It pulled the rag free with a slow, deliberate drawl. Barriss stomped her bare foot, a full-blown tantrum overtaking her. “You archaic, sadistic piece of junk!Is your creator proud of this?Hmm? Programming a glorified mop for sexual assault?”
“Language,” the droid tutted. It then used the rag to give a final, perfunctory swipe across Bultar’s left buttock, then Rey’s right, as if ticking off a list.
“Oh, don’t you even think about putting that in my—” Barriss’s haughty dare was cut short as the droid, talking over her, shoved the rag ball into her open mouth.
“—and oral cavity sanitization is now complete,” it finished, muffling her outraged screams. It held the cloth there for a three-count while Barriss gagged, her eyes blazing with promised vengeance.The droid released it. Barriss spat the sodden rag onto the floor with a sound of pure disgust.“Ugh! It’s vile! It tastes like… like recycled solvent and her!” she whined, pointing a trembling finger at Bultar.
“Organic unit expresses dissatisfaction with flavor profile,” the droid observed, its sensor glowing with something akin to smugness. “A cleansing agent is recommended.”
“Well, obviously! Give me some water, you idiot!”
“Acknowledged.” The droid’s compartment opened again. Instead of a canteen, it produced a standard-issue, Temple-format white bar of industrial cleaning soap. Before Barriss could process the object, the droid plucked it from its compartment and neatly placed it in her still-open mouth.
Barriss froze, her eyes crossing slightly as she looked down at the protruding white bar. A muffled, incredulous sound of rage bubbled around it.“Decontamination cycle complete. Favor debt logged.” In one swift motion, the droid used its pincer to scoop up the pile of their discarded, stained tunics, leggings, and boots. It turned and whirred rapidly toward the service door, the clothes a bundled trophy in its grasp.
The door hissed shut behind it with a final, echoing clunk.Silence, thick and heavy, flooded back into the training salle.
The three women stood utterly still, naked and dripping. The only sounds were Barriss’s furious, soap-muffled breathing, the drip of water from Rey’s hair onto the floor, and the distant, eternal hum of the Temple’s power grid. They were left with nothing but the cool air on their skin, the lingering, astringent taste of cleaner, and the faint, returning hum of the remote-activated garments Bultar still wore—the sleek bra and the silly, grinning podracers grinning silently in the aftermath.
They were left with nothing but the cool air on their skin, the lingering, astringent taste of cleaner, and the faint, returning hum of the remote-activated garments Bultar still wore—the sleek bra and the silly, grinning podracers grinning silently in the aftermath.
Barriss spat the soap bar onto the floor with a wet, definitive plop. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her green skin flushed a deep violet. “That droid,” she seethed, her voice trembling with a rare, unvarnished fury. “I am going to personally reprogram its motivator into a doorstop. A very small, useless doorstop.”
“Yeah, well, at least we’re not covered in cum anymore,” Bultar said, sniffing her own shoulder with a grimace. She shrugged, a practical glint in her eye. “Small victories. That stuff gets sticky fast.”
Rey barked a laugh, though it sounded strained. She was gingerly probing her own backside with her fingers, wincing. “I think it violated more treaties than the Trade Federation. My insides feel… sanitized.” She looked at Barriss, who was still scrubbing her tongue with her bare arm. A wicked grin spread across Rey’s face. “Though, if anybody’s mouth needed a cleaning, it was definitely Potty Mouth over here. All that Mirialan cursing. Very un-Jedi-like.”
Barriss stopped scrubbing. She shot Rey a look that could freeze a star. A deep, mortified blush bloomed across her cheeks and down her neck, clashing with her tattoos. “I was under duress,” she stated primly, though the effect was ruined by her nakedness and the soapy drool on her chin. She attempted to straighten her posture, lifting her chin. “My vocabulary was a perfectly justified response to a mechanized assault.”
“Uh huh,” Bultar said, bending to pick up the discarded soap bar. She turned it over in her hand. It was slimy and warm. “Justified or not, my mouth still tastes like Clean’s rag and your backside. This is the only solvent we’ve got.” She held it out, her expression grimly amused. “Who’s first?”
They looked at the bar, then at each other. A silent, communal understanding passed between them. There were no towels, no water spigots, just the three of them and a used lump of industrial soap.
“Oh, for stars’ sake,” Rey muttered, snatching the bar from Bultar. She stared at it for a second, took a shallow breath, and then shoved it into her mouth. Her face immediately contorted. She gagged, her eyes watering. “Kriff! It’s like licking a speeder’s exhaust port dipped in bleach!” She worked it around her teeth and tongue, scrubbing furiously before spitting a frothy white glob onto the floor. She thrust the bar toward Bultar, shuddering. “Your turn. Share the misery.”
Bultar took it without flinching, popping it into her mouth with the grim determination of a soldier taking medicine. Her jaw worked, her sharp features tightening. “Tastes like regret and floor wax,” she mumbled around the foam. After a moment, she spat her own frothy contribution next to Rey’s. She offered the now-smaller bar to Barriss, a challenging eyebrow raised.
Barriss eyed the slick, saliva-smeared object with profound distaste. Her dignity, already in tatters, made one final, valiant stand. She took the soap with two fingers, as if handling a dead insect. With a sigh of utter resignation, she placed it on her tongue. Her whole body stiffened. A delicate, controlled shudder ran through her. She chewed precisely three times, then leaned over and spat out a perfect, foamy white circle. “There,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Sanitized. Can we please focus on our actual problem now?”
The problem hung in the air, colder than the chamber. Three nude Jedi. One set of functioning, if ridiculous, underwear. No other clothes. The droid had taken everything, even their boots.
“We can’t stay here,” Rey said, stating the obvious. She hugged herself, rubbing her arms. “Someone’s gonna book the salle. Or a Master will wander in for meditation.”
“The residential wing is out,” Bultar said, thinking aloud. “Too many people. Too many corridors.” A sly, familiar grin touched her lips. “The private refresher on sub-level four. The one by the old archives. It’s always empty. Has a ‘fresher stall, a sonic, lockers. We can raid the lost and found for robes.”
Barriss nodded, her analytical mind latching onto the plan. “It’s the most logical route. Two left turns, one right, down the service turbolift. Minimal exposure.”
“Minimal?” Rey snorted, gesturing at their collective nudity. “We’re going to be sprinting through the Temple buck naked. There is no ‘minimal’ exposure. It’s maximum, catastrophic exposure.”
“Which is why we need a system,” Bultar said, her competitive fire returning. She hooked a thumb under the strap of her vibrating bra. “We’ve got two items of clothing between three people. We play for them. And for the soap.”
They both looked at her. “The soap?” Rey asked.
Bultar nudged the wet, half-melted bar with her toe. “The loser doesn’t get clothes. The loser has to keep that between their cheeks during the run. For… grip. Or morale. I don’t know. It’s funny.”
“That’s revolting,” Barriss said flatly.
“It’s motivation not to lose,” Bultar countered. “But!” She held up a finger, her grin widening. “The loser also gets the remote.” She pulled the small, black vibration remote from where it was still tucked into the waistband of her podracer shorts. “The one controlling these.” She gave her chest a little shake, making the bra hum softly. “You might be naked and soapy, but you get to decide how… distracting the trip is for the rest of us.”
A slow, understanding smile spread across Rey’s face. The scavenger saw the bargain instantly. A calculated risk. Humiliation versus power. Barriss’s eyes narrowed, calculating odds.
“What’s the game?” Rey asked, her voice low and ready.
Bultar looked around the stripped-bare salle. Her gaze landed on the only objects left: the three small, weighted training stones used for telekinesis drills, each about the size of a fist, sitting forgotten on a shelf. “Simple. We stand back-to-back-to-back. On my mark, we each use the Force to throw one stone as far as we can across the room. No guiding it, just a straight shove. The one whose stone lands shortest loses. The winner gets first pick of the underwear. Second place gets what’s left.”
“A crude test of raw power,” Barriss mused, already eyeing the stones, her competitive spirit overriding her fastidiousness. “Devoid of finesse. Typical.”
“Your finesse got you a mouthful of soap,” Bultar shot back cheerfully. “Ready?”
They assumed position, standing in a triangle, backs pressed together. The cool skin contact was a brief, strange intimacy. Bultar used the Force to float the three stones over, handing one to each. The grey rock felt solid and familiar in Rey’s palm.
“Throw on three,” Bultar said, her voice dropping to a focused murmur. “One… two… THREE!”
Three sharp intakes of breath. A simultaneous surge in the Force, a silent concussion of energy in the still air.
Rey’s stone shot from her hand like a blaster bolt, a straight, violent line that slammed into the far wall with a loud crack before clattering to the floor.
Bultar’s followed a microsecond later, a powerful, direct shove that ricocheted off the ceiling with a shower of sparks before skidding to a halt a few meters short of Rey’s.
Barriss’s stone flew true and fast, but it was different. At the last second, as if guided by an instinct for precision over power, it veered slightly, arcing to avoid Bultar’s ricochet. It landed with a soft thud squarely in the center of the sticky, stained mat where Bultar had been trapped earlier.
The three of them turned, breath held.
Rey’s stone was clearly the farthest, nestled against the far wall. Bultar’s was in the middle of the floor. Barriss’s was closest, sitting perfectly in the center of the adhesive circle.
A beat of silence.
“Ha!” Rey exclaimed, pumping a fist. “First pick! I call the bra!” She lunged for Bultar, who was already unhooking the clasp with a rueful shake of her head. The humming garment changed hands.
Bultar looked at her podracer shorts, then at Barriss, then at the soap on the floor. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “Well, Offee. Looks like you’re riding bareback with a souvenir.” She tossed the remote in a high arc. Barriss caught it neatly, her expression unreadable.
Bultar stepped out of the shorts, the cool air hitting her bare skin. She kicked them over to Rey, who was struggling into the complicated bra. Rey stepped into the shorts, pulling them up over her hips. The blue fabric with its grinning vehicles was a stark, absurd contrast against her nakedness elsewhere.
Barriss bent down, picking up the slimy, warm soap bar with a look of profound resignation. She took a steadying breath, then turned and slid it carefully between her cheeks, wincing at the sensation. She stood, her posture rigid.
“Comfy?” Bultar asked, grinning unabashedly now, completely nude and unconcerned.
“It’s… adequately secured,” Barriss said through clenched teeth. Her thumb hovered over the remote. Her violet eyes, however, glinted with a new, dangerous light. She looked from Bultar’s bare form to Rey, now clad in the humming bra and shorts. “Shall we go?”
Rey adjusted the bra strap, the faint buzz against her skin a constant reminder of the stakes. She nodded toward the door. “Let’s get this nudie run over with.”
Bultar cracked her neck, a fighter readying for a different kind of battle. “Last one to the refresher is a rotten mynock.” She looked at Barriss, who held the power to make their sprint a vibrating, humiliating ordeal. “Try to keep up, Potty Mouth.”
Barriss’s thumb rested on the remote’s dial. A small, tight smile touched her lips. “Oh, I intend to.”
Rey hears this and removes the bra, passing it to Bultar. She's not going to be at Barriss' mercy alone. Bultar for her part is grateful for any clothing.