Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, or anything here you recognize. The idea for this story was accidentally sparked by reading Deal Breakers and Queen Makers by LadyRavena. It was utterly ridiculous but it wouldn't let go of me.
For my Star Trek readers, no, I haven't given up on Trapped in Darkness; this is something that has been sitting on my computer for ages and that I thought people might enjoy.
Now to the story!
Rutar Venn smiled as she checked the ysalamir's nutrient readings and looked into the cloning cylinder at the young twi'lek girl within. She was developmentally about 10, and nearly ready to be released. She was a pretty child, and should make a fine dancing girl if the template was anything to go by. Rutar checked the flash tape again. No problems. Hopefully the one problem they'd had two months ago shouldn't be an issue – it had been the only real problem with the whole project. Rutar liked projects that went well.
Of course, that meant the project would be over soon and Rutar would be reassigned, which was rather a shame. She had come to like the independence running her own project gave her.
She sighed, and rolled her shoulders. Working for the Hutts had its disadvantages, and secrecy and a lack of freedom were two of them. At least the pay was decent and she didn't have to worry about that misunderstanding with the Corellian medical ethics committee.
Rutar stood up, having completed all the required checks. Time for lunch, the twi'lek woman thought, and left the room.
Inside the cloning cylinder, the little rutian twi'lek slept on, her fingers twitching occasionally as if dreaming of firing a blaster.
Thrawn woke slowly, clawing his way up from deep sleep. He was cold and wet, and oddly enough was slumped against a smooth curved surface. There was something horribly wrong with him, he could tell, and a babble of noises that sounded like voices. Was he injured and in a bacta tank with wires and tubes hanging off him?
He raised his head, and nearly overbalanced from the weight at the back of his head. He steadied himself with a hand, feeling something strange hanging down his back. He opened his eyes to a blur of colors and blinked. Everything was still wrong, but surely this wasn't a bacta tank. They didn't empty those when they let you out. The colors were wrong, too. He looked down and saw his hand on the ground. It was... his brain refused to process. It wasn't blue. In fact, it wasn't any color he had ever seen in his life.
Before he had a chance to think further, hands were reaching in and pulling him upright and out of the tank, and wrapping him in a towel. He looked up, seeing a couple of human technicians and a green twi'lek who hung back a little. They seemed larger than they should, and why were they speaking twi'leki at him? He reached for the language, cursing the fact that he had never studied it in detail, then decided to just go with Basic.
"What happened?" he asked. His eyes widened. Last time he'd noticed, he'd been bass, not soprano. Nothing made sense. He needed information, and the techs whispering in twi'leki weren't giving him any.
He managed to extract his hand from the towel, determined to at least figure out what the things on his head were. He pulled at one, and ouch! One of the humans slapped his hand away.
"No Lara," she said, this time thankfully in basic. "I know everything's a little confusing right now, but pulling at your lekku won't help."
Lara, lekku, soprano, impossible colors... either he was hallucinating or he was no longer Grand Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo. The cloning tapes... with horror Thrawn realized what had happened. Those extra flash-learning tapes had been disguised under the label 'twi'lek dancing girl'.
Despite himself, Thrawn began to laugh, first a chuckle that came out more like a giggle, and then outright hysterical laughter that she could not stop.
Rutar stared at the hysterical child in front of her, wondering if a good slap would help bring her to her senses. She'd better not do that in front of Issulla Erjilliac Miul. On the other hand, the silly girl was brand-new, and maybe many new clones reacted like this.
After a couple of minutes, the girl stopped laughing and wiped at her eyes determinedly. "Where am I, and who are you?" the girl said, slurring the words slightly.
"You are Lara Mitara, or rather, a clone of her. I am Rutar Venn, the scientist who created you."
"What was I created for?" the girl demanded, pulling the towel more tightly around her shoulders.
"A dancer, obviously," said Rutar, feeling a little discomfited. As the clone of a famous dancer, what did the girl think she'd been made for?
The clone nodded, one swift hard jerk of her head. "I see. Who is my employer?"
"Your master is Isulla Erjilliac Miul, and he is a connoisseur of dance. You dance well for him, and he'll make you famous and wealthy beyond most of our people's dreams. Dance badly, and you'll regret it if you live long enough."
After some necessary medical tests and samples, letting the girl getting dressed and snapping a slave collar on her, Rutar heaved a sigh of relief and sent the girl off to bed. Then she frowned. Some clumsiness was to be expected of a new clone, especially if the chronological age of her body didn't match with the templates' mind, but the girl could barely stand upright without toppling over and she seemed not to have the faintest idea what to do with her lekku.
Hopefully some of that would be better by tomorrow, or the girl would not be ready to perform in public in time for Issulla's birthday. Rutar dreaded receiving one of Issulla's punishments. It had all been going so well... still, there was no need to panic yet.