Hera didn’t start to doubt her plan until it was too late: Chopper caught her in the act, and his electronic gloating drew the rest of the crew like mynocks to a power coupling.
“You’re eating someone else’s personal stores—” began Sabine, her voice an odd mixture of awe and outrage.
“Yeah, my dip-a-chips!” interrupted Ezra.
“and you’re double-dipping!” Zeb finished, and there was no mistaking the glee in his voice.
“In my blomfruit salsa.” Kanan delivered the final blow, and Hera’s resistance crumpled.
“Fine,” she relented, “I’ll relax the rules a bit.”
Kanan crossed his arms. “I don’t know... Chop, what’s the penalty for store-stealing?”
Chopper grunted something insufferably smug.
“You’ve already had a tune-up,” Hera muttered back.
“And for double-dipping?” Kanan asked.
Chopper whistled low and long.
“Traitor.” Hera glared at the droid.
“Hey, you made the rules!” Kanan winked at her. That was the last straw.
The list came down, of course, and a new box of dip-a-chips and a new jar of blomfruit salsa appeared in the ship’s stores, and Chopper got his tune-up. Hera let everything settle back to normal before locking Kanan out of their shared quarters while he was in the shower. Without his clothes. Or a towel.
Chopper warbled a question.
“Just long enough to get the point,” answered Hera as she tightened the last bolt on the last bolthole where Kanan could possibly hide. “And until Asohka gets here. And no, I don’t think Jedi can make themselves invisible.”
She straightened in satisfaction. Kanan had neglected to factor in the most important unwritten rule of all: the Captain of the ship always gets the last word.