Queen's Hope Page 2

  She stripped off her upper-level Coruscant finery but left her undergarments in place. No one would see them, and she was certainly not going to get rid of practical clothing that was going to remain hidden anyway. She pulled a light shirt over her head. It covered her to the wrists, to keep the sun off her skin, but was made of a breathable material. She stepped into sturdy russet-colored trousers. They had plenty of pockets for any tools she would need. Next came the overtunic, a sleeveless vest that fell halfway down her thighs, though slits were cut to the waist so she could move around. It was faded orange in color, giving her a generally dusty appearance. She’d fit right in. Last came a wide belt, where she would carry her purse, canteen, and vibroblade.

  She packed the fancy clothes away at the bottom of her trunk, leaving her other Tatooine-appropriate clothes on the top for easy access. They did have an apartment waiting for them, theoretically, but there was no way to tell what the storage would be like. She pulled on her boots and then opened Tonra’s trunk. He was perfectly capable of laying out his own clothes, but old habits died hard.

  “Your turn,” she said, returning to the flight deck and taking her seat.

  “We should be dropping out of hyperspace any moment,” Tonra said, flipping control back to her.

  Sabé prepped their landing permit and docking clearance while Tonra changed. His clothes were mostly the same as hers, only bigger. He wore a blaster openly, an inelegant black-and-gray contraption they’d acquired somewhere. He was settling back into his chair when the comm crackled and a voice came through.

  “Freighter One Seventeen, this is port control. State your business.” It wasn’t a droid speaking, just an incredibly disinterested person.

  “Submitting our permits now,” Sabé said, feeding first the landing documents and then their docking permit.

  “We read you, Freighter,” the voice said. “Bay thirty-one is yours.”

  “Thank you, Control,” Sabé said. The connection had already been cut, but she still had good manners.

  “Here we go,” Sabé said. She began the landing sequence.

  “Again,” Tonra added as he went through the copilot’s checklist.

  Sabé exhaled with a bit of annoyance. They hadn’t talked about it, not really, but she knew both of them were still a little sore about how things had turned out the last time they had tried this. They had completely blown their covers and only barely salvaged the operation by using their own funds to buy a shipment of enslaved people. The people had been immediately freed and taken to Karlinus, a planet that welcomed workers and paid them well, but it was hardly the rousing success Sabé had wanted. Nothing rankled like failure and unfinished business.

  “I’m glad you could come with me,” she said. “I know the guard detail on Coruscant could have used you, and you’re probably high-ranking enough to get a regular palace job in Theed if you wanted.”

  “You don’t exactly have to be here, either,” Tonra reminded her. “We’re both here because we left something undone and we want to try again.”

  “Now that we’re smarter,” Sabé added.

  “Wiser,” Tonra corrected gently. “I’m not sure the galaxy could handle you if you got too much smarter.”

  Sabé laughed and brought the ship down over Mos Eisley. The city had not improved since the last time she’d seen it. Squat whitish-brown buildings stretched out below them. There was little evidence of public infrastructure. The streets were haphazardly placed and had no fixed width. Wires and water tanks hung everywhere. She knew it wasn’t possible, not with the air circulators on the ship, but she felt like she could already smell it: heat and dust and too many people.

  Tonra reached over and placed his hand lightly on top of hers. She wasn’t alone. They brought the ship in together.

  The list Dormé was working from was very short. She wasn’t exactly sure how long Padmé was planning to stay on Naboo, and she didn’t want to know what she was up to, but Dormé had her own task in the meantime. It was a bit morbid, replacing her coworkers, but it had to be done. Cordé and Versé were gone, and Dormé couldn’t do everything at once. They needed more handmaidens.

  “I think it should be different this time,” Padmé had said. Dormé had been on her way back to Theed with Typho. Padmé had already landed and set out for the Lake Country. “When we brought you and the others in, we were looking for specific talents. The first time, I was after look-alikes and friends. I think this time, I am more in need of . . .”

  Her voice had trailed off, but Dormé knew where she’d been headed. It wasn’t just grief speaking, either. It was practicality.

  “You need senatorial aides,” Dormé said. “You need handmaidens to actually do what everyone thinks handmaidens do anyway. They won’t be quite as multitalented as your earlier teams, but we can still find people who are loyal and wish to serve.”

  “Is it fair to ask them to do that?” Padmé said. Service without friendship seemed cold to her. “I offered the rest of you so much more in return, in terms of a relationship with me and a challenge in your work.”

  “They won’t know any other way, Senator,” Dormé had said. “And you’ll still have me, of course.”

  “I’ll leave it to you, then,” Padmé told her. “Thank you.”

  “My hands are yours,” Dormé murmured, and the connection was cut.

  Now, sitting with the list of names, Dormé was pleased with how the interviews had gone. The handmaidens were basically legendary. Everyone knew that only the best of the best could be one, no one knew exactly what it was they did, and most people never thought they would ever get the chance to find out. Three of the interviewees were clearly better suited to life in the Theed court itself. Dormé had already sent them a polite rejection and a letter of recommendation to the palace. A fourth was too similar to Dormé in skill set, given what Padmé was looking for now. Even three months ago, zhe would have been perfect. She shared zher name with Saché, in case Saché had need of zher.

  This left her with two. She had liked both candidates when she interviewed them and was pleased that they both returned for the secondary talk. They knew they were replacing handmaidens who had died, and Dormé would not have blamed them if they’d decided to back out.

  “The senator is looking forward to meeting you,” Dormé told them after they had finished signing their contracts. “Her schedule can be a bit unpredictable, but she’s with family at the moment, so you have some time to go home and make your arrangements to leave Naboo. I recommend bringing only a few personal items. We will outfit you with everything else, and it’s easier to move quickly.”

  Both girls nodded and then exchanged glances. Dormé decided to wait them out.

  “What about our names?” Elleen asked finally.

  Dormé was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t a rule that the handmaidens changed their names, and she hadn’t planned to bring it up unless they did, but it was always a good sign. Already, across Naboo, children were being named with the é ending in Padmé’s honor. It was a fashion, like the hooded cloaks at court, but it was still part of her legacy.

  “We are Naboo,” Dormé told them. “I will call you whatever you wish to be called.”

  “I’ll be Ellé then,” the girl said. She’d clearly been thinking about it. Dormé looked at the second one.

  “Moteé,” she said. She wasn’t particularly shy; she just preferred to let others talk if they were going to anyway.

  “I’ll amend the files,” Dormé said. “On behalf of Senator Padmé Amidala, I am happy to welcome you.”

  The new handmaidens left, and Dormé sent their files over to Padmé so she could familiarize herself with them. There was no answer, and Dormé hadn’t expected one. As long as she didn’t know what Padmé was doing, she couldn’t be asked for her opinion of it, and her opinion was nobody’s business anyway. Padmé would tell her eventually. That was the way of it.

  A soft chime indicated an incoming message. Dormé smiled: it was Typ
ho.

  “Are you finished then?” he asked, his holographic face appearing in front of her. She was always glad to see him, even when he was blue and mostly transparent.

  “Yes,” she said. “A full complement for the trip back to Coruscant.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “I’ve got a table at that noodle place Eirtaé’s been growing algae for. Do you want to go eat art?”

  Dormé laughed and told him she’d love to. Her work was important and very fulfilling, but sometimes it was nice to be home.

  Saché had come to work fully expecting a long day of debates and discussion as Naboo’s legislature worked to deal with the aftermath of the mudslide on the secondary continent. She knew that Yané had the most important part of the situation under control: the survivors were safe and were being taken care of. It was up to everyone else to assess the situation and do their best to make sure nothing like it happened again.

  It took a few hours, but the legislature moved at a reasonable pace through their task list. Survey teams were dispatched to the slide site and to the surrounding regions. Engineers were called in to develop new safety mechanisms. Farmers were consulted on how to best move forward with further terracing of the hills. Medical funds were set aside for the orphaned children, to ensure they would be cared for if they needed something beyond what their caretakers could provide. Though their agenda was rooted in disaster, the legislature actually had a pretty good day. They got all their work done, and no one went too badly off topic or tried to manipulate the proceedings for personal gain. In fact, they were about to adjourn for the night when a young legislator from Theed stood up and was granted the floor.

  “Honorable colleagues, I know we have had a long day,” the young man began. Saché braced herself for the other shoe. “But now that we have dealt with our own crisis on-planet, I feel that we should turn our attention to the galactic situation.”

  There were some grumblings at that. Everyone knew it was important, but it was late, and they couldn’t really do anything until tomorrow anyway.

  “I know, my friends,” the young man continued. “But we are already here, and a matter of some importance has been brought to my attention, because it affects not just Naboo, but the whole Chommell sector.”

  That got Saché’s attention. Relations with the other Chommell sector planets were cordial, but they had not progressed as nicely as Queen Amidala had hoped they might after her reign.

  “In the face of the Clone War,” the young man said, trying out the words for what seemed to be the first time, “I turn to the guidance of a military professional to advise the legislature, and yield to Captain Quarsh Panaka.”

  Now the room buzzed with interest. Quarsh Panaka rarely spoke in public anymore. His calls for further militarization after the ion cannon was built had been almost entirely rebuffed, and most of his credibility with the crown had been spent. He still had friends in the legislature, though, and any time he showed up, it was invariably some sort of event. Saché took advantage of everyone’s distraction to make a note to call Yané during the next recess and tell her not to wait up.

  Panaka strode to the center of the room. It was an odeon, and small enough that the acoustics worked without the aid of technology. Whatever Panaka said would be heard perfectly clearly, as long as he didn’t pace around the floor.

  “Legislators,” he began, “I’m not interested in keeping you up past your bedtimes for no reason, but with the beginnings of the Clone War, there are things Naboo must deal with.”

  The murmured response to that was mildly offended, but everyone was too polite to yell at him.

  “Appearing on your screens now is a copy of an old bill, once passed in these very halls,” Panaka said. Saché looked down at her personal screen and began to read, splitting her focus. “As you’ll see, it dates back to the time when Naboo expanded to the uninhabited planets in the sector. As part of their agreement, the colonists signed a contract that remains binding to this day.”

  “Just tell us what the contract says, Captain.” Governor Bibble was clearly on his last nerve.

  “Of course, Governor,” Panaka said. “In return for Naboo’s loan of start-up costs, the colonists agreed to be called upon to supply Naboo in times of emergency. We didn’t do it during the Occupation because we didn’t have time, but we could have. They would be legally obligated to give us whatever we decided we needed.”

  Dead silence greeted his statement. Saché leaned on her speaker’s button so hard, she thought she might break it.

  “Legislator Saché?” the protocol droid recognized her.

  “Governor,” she said, and stood. “Captain, are the terms of the contract that vague?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid they are.” He didn’t address her by an honorific, and his face softened a little bit when he spoke to her, even as his eyes lingered on the scars he hadn’t been able to prevent. After all this time, he still didn’t fully understand what he’d built. “Once the colonies were economically stable—and they now are—Naboo could call in the loan.”

  “Do the sector planets know about this?” she asked.

  “They do, your honors,” he said. Panaka turned away from her to address the general floor again. “We must consider carefully what we do next. War will reach us, in some form or another, soon enough. Naboo has a reputation for providing aid. If we have the Chommell planets to draw upon, as well, this will affect how we approach distribution of resources in the coming days.”

  “What if they can’t support themselves as well as us?” Saché still had the speaker, it seemed, though she wasn’t the only person who shouted a variation of the question.

  “That’s why I brought it to you,” Panaka said.

  “You have my thanks, Captain,” Bibble said. “If you will all take your seats again and return to order, I will take recommendations on how to proceed.”

  Saché did not bother trying to access the speaker again. Someone else stood to recommend a forty-minute recess for them to read the bill and formulate their thoughts—and grab a snack, or at least that was implied—and Bibble granted it. Saché had nine messages from allies by the time she got to her office, and three from her usual adversaries, all asking what she was going to do. For ten minutes, she ignored everything.

  They all remembered the Occupation. They all remembered running out of food and then, because the Trade Federation had ensured it, not being able to distribute the food they had. Most of them had been in camps. But only Saché had been tortured.

  The memories of that horrible experience haunted her only infrequently. Usually she would have a nightmare, and then Yané would soothe her back to sleep, and that was all. Sometimes, if mention of the Occupation took her off guard, her breath would catch in her chest and she would remember the pain very clearly. This was neither of those two things. She remembered, but it did not consume her. This was a fire she could channel.

  Saché took a deep breath and looked into the mirror she kept in her desk drawer. Rabé had designed two versions of the same makeup for her. One was a cover-up that smoothed her skin to an even tone. She almost never wore it. The second, which she wore almost every day, highlighted the stark difference between her pale skin and the raw redness of her scars. She’d earned them, and they’d hurt a lot, so she was going to use them. When she spoke tonight, everyone would see her, and they would know.

  Saché returned to the floor thirty minutes later, having contacted her wife and said good night to as many of their children as ran through the transmission. The same chime summoned everyone else. The night stretched on and on as legislators spoke and factions formed. Panaka didn’t speak again, but he stayed on the floor the whole time, and Saché wondered how he had found himself with information so vital at this exact time. He wasn’t the type to scour old files of Naboo policy for fun. If there was a war, perhaps he was looking for a way back into the Queen’s good graces. He did, after all, always have the good of Naboo close to his heart, even if he disagr
eed with everyone else about how to carry that out.

  Finally, Saché’s turn to speak arrived, and she rose to address the legislature. She didn’t voice any of her speculations, not yet. It was time to find good questions, not spurious ones. And she could always uncover more if no one knew what she was really after.

  “My friends, we are at a crossroads,” she said. “And we have a choice. We can be dictatorial and ruthless, and ensure our own needs before everyone else’s. Or we can cancel the bill outright and declare it water under the bridge. I think you all know where I stand on that.”

  There was some cheering in the room at her statement.

  “What does not change is this,” she concluded. “We must reach out to the other planets and see if there is a way we can work together. We all have resources that other planets need, and there is no reason not to cooperate. But it should be done under the auspices of good government, not an outdated bill, signed by our ancestors during desperate times.”

  It was nearly three in the morning when Bibble called a halt to the proceedings. Saché’s speech had been received the most favorably, but there was a larger-than-was-comfortable contingent of legislators who didn’t want the bill rescinded at all. They were so worried about hardship befalling them that they couldn’t understand—or didn’t care—how it would impact others to maintain their standard of living. They could not accept that Naboo might suffer alongside its neighbors, a deliberate choice to join them instead of exploiting them. Their fear made them selfish and shortsighted. So after all of that, there was no vote anyway. Bibble sent them on their way with instructions to return to debate the following day at noon.

  Saché thought about trying to catch Panaka on his way out, but he was swamped by the legislators who wanted to keep the bill, and she couldn’t stomach talking to any of them, so she went back to her office instead. She sent a message to the governor of Karlinus, an old friend, and to Harli Jafan, who was usually at least a reasonable ally. There was a picture from Yané of a familiar bed filled with children, and a message from Dormé about a person who might make a good assistant. Saché was definitely in need of that, but decided to wait until a more reasonable hour to act on it.