The stormtroopers were as rough as she'd expected them to be. She was handcuffed before she could even think of fighting back—probably a good thing, given the state of her arm, but if Hera had had the cognizance she would have fought like hell. They brought her onto the ship, to a tiled room where they all but threw her to the ground. She scanned her surroundings—a showerhead, a bench, a neatly folded orange jumpsuit. She barely had time to read the number printed on it before the first trooper had grabbed her and hoisted her up.
"Strip, Twi'lek," he said. She wrenched her arm from his grasp and glared at him.
"Imperial procedure," he said. "You're not smart enough to know this, but you rebels drag in all kinds of krayt spit. You strip, we spray you down, you put on the jumpsuit. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
"She's probably got diseases of her own," the second one said. "You know how these ones whore around."
"If she thinks that's going to stop me, she's even dumber than she looks," said the first. He took off his helmet and leered at her. "Strip."
Hera narrowed her eyes. The trooper seized the handcuffs on her wrists and yanked her close, his breath dank on her face.
"Strip, or I do it for you," he said. He held her close for another second, then shoved her backward. She stumbled but caught her balance. With a baleful look, she held her hands out, her body stiff as durasteel.
"There's a good girl," the first trooper said. He unlatched the cuffs, then watched lasciviously as she bent to take off her boots. "So, are you really a pilot, or is that just what they're calling the entertainment these days?"
Hera said nothing as she removed her boots and flightsuit. When she was down to her underclothes and pilot's cap, she stopped.
The trooper waved his hand as if he was bored, but she could sense the lust pouring off him.
"You're not done, bitch," he said. "Strip. All of it."
Hera folded her arms across her chest. "No."
The trooper's expression transformed into a scowl. "No?"
"Whatever you need to clean me of, I'm sure I don't need to be any more stripped than this," Hera said. "I seriously doubt you'd adhere so strictly to protocol if I were an Ithorian."
The trooper's eyes flashed, and he grabbed the handcuffs and lunged at her. Hera stifled a cry of pain when her injured arm was bent behind her back and cuffed to the other.
"If you're not going to strip," he said, growling into her ear, "I can do it for you."
"Maybe she needs someone to tell her what to do," the other trooper said with a sneer.
The trooper behind her chuckled and ran his hands down her sides, pulling her against his waist. "Hm, do you like to dance, dirty girl?"
"Dance for us, captain," the second trooper mocked. Hera gritted her teeth and kept her body stiff as marble.
"Yeah, captain, dance for us," the first trooper said, grinding against her. Hera's stomach twisted with hate.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The voice that cut in, with its carefully accented enunciation, was familiar; the furious inflection was not. Thrawn strode into the room with his hands clasped behind his back, his jaw in a tightly clenched line.
The trooper leapt away from her and stood trembling at attention next to his companion.
"Standard procedure, Grand Admiral," he said.
"We have to hose all prisoners down for—"
"Foreign contaminants, LN-427, I'm familiar with Imperial procedure," Thrawn said, cutting off the second trooper. "Familiar enough to know that this is far outside the book. Tell me, are prisoners required to disrobe beyond their underclothing?"
The first trooper kept his eyes on the floor. "No, sir."
Every one of Thrawn's words was weighted and barbed. "Then why was Captain Syndulla challenged to… strip, as you so colloquially put it?"
The second trooper tried to allay. "Y-you never know with these rebels, sir, they're full of contaminants—"
"But not enough to stop you from sexual assault," Thrawn said. He fixed both of them with a hard glare. "No?"
The first trooper's voice was quivering. "No, sir."
Thrawn held the stare. "Are you aware of the location of my office?"
"Yes sir," he said.
"Wait for me there. If you try to do otherwise, I will find you and personally jettison you myself. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir."
"Sir?" Thrawn raised an eyebrow.
The troopers were paler than their armor. "Yes, Grand Admiral."
Thrawn held them in his stare for a moment longer. "Dismissed."
They all but ran out of the room. Thrawn's eyes slowly swept back to Hera. He approached her without a word and moved behind her, and Hera held her breath, bracing for the worst.
With a click, the handcuffs popped off. As she was released, she instinctively brought her injured arm to be cradled by the other, stifling a sigh of relief.
Thrawn stepped back in front of her and nodded toward it. "Have you been treated for that?"
She stared back at him, and her expression was answer enough. What do you think?
Thrawn sighed. "Not surprising. Disappointing, but not surprising," he said.
They held eye contact for a moment.
He spoke first. "I know that this will mean nothing to you, but I apologize for your treatment thus far."
She simply stared. Thrawn looked around, then picked up the jumpsuit and handed it to her. Hera dressed quickly and without a word.
"There," he said. "While the very nature of your presence on this ship means that there will be power dynamics at play, I don't care to exploit sexual ones."
She blinked.
"I want you to know that you'll be treated with the utmost respect here. I apologize for not foreseeing the problems that only male troopers would cause, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure you are attended by only females from now on."
Hera said nothing—mostly out of refusal but partly from shock.
"We may be enemies, Captain Syndulla, but I hold great respect for you," Thrawn said. "I expect you to be treated with such. If any problems arise during your internment here, consider me a contact."
He paused for another moment, and when she still hadn't spoken, turned to go. Hera waited until he was almost at the door, then blurted,
"Why?"
She knew she was playing right into his trap by asking it, but she had to know.
"Why…?" Thrawn repeated.
She stared at him. "Why help me?"
Thrawn opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. A moment later, he said something so quiet she almost couldn't hear.
"I know what it's like to be an alien in their world."
Before she could clarify, he turned back towards the door.
"Someone will come for you shortly to bring you to your cell. And you have my word that your assailants will be… properly punished."
With that, Grand Admiral Thrawn turned to go, leaving a bewildered Hera behind him.