Queens hope, p.8
Queen's Hope, page 8
“I’ve missed your aggressive optimism,” Harli said. “Sabé was like that, too.”
“It was a job requirement,” Saché said. She held out her hand, and Tepoh passed her the stylus and datapad. “Shall we get to work?”
Coruscant had not improved since the last time Sabé was there. No sooner had they landed than she felt the oppressive weight of all the people, the strange dichotomy of so much life without anything natural. Everything on Coruscant was a construct, built on layers of what had come before: erasing, covering, destroying, all in the name of reaching ever farther up. She could tell Padmé was happy, so she put her best face on and found she genuinely enjoyed the welcome dinner. It was good to see everyone again, good to be part of a big team again, even if a few of the faces were unfamiliar.
Ellé and Moteé were, of course, brilliant girls with a wide independent streak. They were not afraid to show initiative, but they didn’t thrive on the recognition of it. That was something Sabé was intimately familiar with. Ellé was a former aide to Governor Bibble, good-naturedly poached from his service. Moteé was a recent graduate of the political academy in Theed. Dormé had done excellent work recruiting them. Sabé noticed that both of the new aides were more politically inclined than the previous handmaidens had been. She said as much to Dormé quietly between courses as Padmé’s new protocol droid cleared the dishes.
“Yes,” Dormé said. “We decided that a focus on Senate service was needed. I have a small staff of my own, now, to deal with the more domestic side of the senator’s life here. They dress and look like handmaidens, but Padmé decided to separate her household a little bit, going forward.”
It made sense. Their old scheme, the decoy queen, had been entirely built around misdirection. Padmé had changed it when she became senator, and changing it again as her needs shifted was logical. It did make Sabé’s job more difficult, though. Sabé needed to learn a new system that wasn’t designed for a body double, and then she’d have to be a body double without any of the full-face makeup tricks they used to use. Her sun- and wind-scoured skin was the least of her problems. As she and Padmé had grown older, they’d grown more physically distinct. Fortunately, Dormé was incredibly skilled with contouring.
The new system would also, Sabé realized, allow Padmé to separate her work life from her time at home. Before, she had lived and breathed politics all the time, with her handmaidens always at the ready to support her. Now, with Dormé as the only crossover point, she could leave work at the Senate building, as much as she wanted. It was a freedom Padmé had never sought before, and Sabé could only wonder what had changed.
Because she had changed. That much was sure. Padmé’s smile was a little too bright, her eyes too engaged in the conversations around the table. Sabé knew Padmé’s face as well as she knew her own, and she could tell that, for whatever reason, Padmé was playing a role tonight. It wasn’t usually something she did amongst friends. Maybe it had something to do with the mission Bail was sending her on. In any case, Sabé wouldn’t ask. Padmé would tell her, if she needed to know, and they’d incorporate it into the disguise, same as before.
Padmé caught her eye across the dessert course, mask dropping for a moment as she smiled. It was good to be home.
It took three days for Padmé to carve out enough time to brief Sabé properly. She wanted to do it in private, and since the whole process was clandestine, she couldn’t drop out of any of her previous engagements. There were long days at the Senate and long nights in committee meetings or, worse, at parties garnering support. With Dormé to ensure she looked the part, and Ellé and Moteé to record, observe, and memorize, Padmé was able to plan her mission even as she pretended everything was normal. Still, her distraction meant that the bulk of the physical work fell to Captain Typho.
“You’re disturbingly good at that,” Typho said as Sabé presented him with false identification for both himself and the senator.
“You learn a few things when you’re trying to combat traffickers,” Sabé replied. She winked at him. He had no idea.
When she wasn’t helping Typho, Sabé was far from idle. She learned how both aspects of Padmé’s new life functioned, doubling for both her in-residence handmaidens and accompanying the senator to work. She spent hours with Dormé, learning faces and names and affiliations. She even spoke with Senator Organa twice. Both calls were seemingly innocuous, one to welcome her to Coruscant and one to inquire about how many people Senator Amidala would be bringing to a dinner party.
She thought she might claw her way out of her skin. Somewhere on Tatooine, Tonra was so close to a major operation, and she was here, spinning her wheels over invitations. She knew Padmé’s tasks were important, but it was strange to step back into the senatorial role when she’d just gotten used to her place on Tatooine.
At last, on the third day, Padmé arrived home from the Senate with no plans for the evening and decided to go to bed early. She dismissed everyone but Sabé, and the two of them settled in to talk.
“You’re much more popular than you were the last time I was here.” Sabé had a comb in one hand and was carefully taming the snarls left behind by Padmé’s various hairpins, trying to preserve her curls. “I haven’t read a single tall tale about you in three days.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Padmé said. “Though the news is all about the war, these days. I almost wish my supposed scandals were the only things for the ’casters to talk about.”
She relaxed in her chair while Sabé’s careful hands untangled her hair. Maybe after all of this, she’d switch to plain styles entirely. Or at the very least, give up on the headpieces.
“I like the new guy,” Sabé said. “His voice is soothing even though his headlines are all sensationalized. I know that some of it is propaganda, but he feels consistent.”
She started to braid Padmé’s hair. It wasn’t easy to find a practical hairstyle that Padmé could do herself and fitted under a flight helmet, so they were practicing. Multitasking. It really was like old times.
“A coronet would be the easiest, but I can’t fit that under the helmet,” Padmé grumbled. “Maybe we should cut it?”
“Dormé would kill me,” Sabé said. “Give me more than five minutes, and if it gets really bad, we’ll send a message to Rabé.”
“I would never dream of interrupting an important musician for hair advice.” Padmé laughed.
Sabé began work on a second braid.
“I’ve picked up quite a bit of information about the mission already, I think,” she said. “Between what you were able to tell me on the call and what I’ve gotten from the questions Senator Organa didn’t ask me, anyway.”
“I still wanted to tell you the full plan myself,” Padmé said. “Without interruption, if possible.”
“I appreciate it,” Sabé said. “Even though we did train in espionage together.”
“There are a bunch of new corporations that are shuttling supplies and necessities through the war zone, particularly in the Mid Rim,” Padmé said. “A lot of them are just regular merchants who repurposed when the war broke out, but it all happened so fast that no one really knows who works for whom.”
“You mean, you suspect some of them are double-dipping?” Sabé asked. “Selling to both sides and making a profit?”
“That’s basically unavoidable.” Padmé grimaced. “We can’t stop it or control it, but we’re hoping we can direct contracts toward people we trust.”
Sabé tied off the second braid and started on a third.
“What about arms?” she asked. “And smuggling?”
“There’s that, too, of course,” Padmé said. “Senator Organa thought we would have to conduct an official investigation eventually. We just don’t have time right now, because we’re trying to marshal everyone else.”
Padmé’s personal communication device had been flashing nonstop since the senator sat down, and she was resolutely ignoring it. She’d have to go back to work eventually, but when she’d said no interruptions, she’d meant it.
“And then we got, for lack of a better term, an invitation,” Padmé said. “The Jedi received a tip about one of the corporations who wanted to meet with a senator in person, but privately. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up—to see the inner workings of our supply chain in such a direct manner—but we still have to be discreet about it.”
“And that’s where we come in,” Sabé said. “How do you know the tip is good?”
“We don’t,” Padmé said. “But it’s a good lead, and the ship that Captain Typho found for us is as safe as he can make it. It used to be an independent contractor that did short-haul medical transportation, but now it’s been converted to transport medical supplies, and they work freelance for the corporation.”
“I am just imagining the ulcer Quarsh Panaka would be getting right now,” Sabé said. It was still strange to her that he wasn’t around.
“Mariek Panaka is fine with it,” Padmé said. If she was upset, it didn’t show. “Also, the captain is a Wookiee. I always feel safe around Wookiees for some reason.”
Sabé finished a fourth braid and began to roll them into coils that rested on the back of Padmé’s neck. The space between the collar of her flight suit and the bottom of her helmet was all they had to work with, so the coils were tight. Padmé touched the tray of beads she usually wore when her hair was done up for flying. It was the easiest style, but it wasn’t the easiest to do on the back of her own head. She missed Cordé. The jewelry her handmaiden had left behind was a cold replacement for her presence.
“Where’s your helmet?” Sabé asked when she was done.
“In the closet,” Padmé said. She waited while Sabé retrieved it, and then tried it on.
“Well, that’s as good as we’re going to get, I think,” Sabé said, making a few quick adjustments to the coils. “Now take that off, and we’ll see if you can replicate it.”
Padmé meant to tell her. She really did. But it was so comfortable. So familiar. They were planning and working together, and Padmé was reluctant to spoil that with new information, especially something so volatile. There would be time later. There would always be time for the two of them.
“Don’t you ever get tired of that?” Obi-Wan Kenobi asked as his lightsaber blade vanished into the hilt. Around him, the sound of fighting did not cease. There were multiple engagements nearby, and the smell of burning ozone indicated that the air battle proceeded, as well.
“Why would I?” Anakin was surrounded by half-smelted metal, as several dismembered battle droids were crumpled on the ground around him.
This wasn’t their first encounter with the Separatist forces on this planet. It wasn’t even their first encounter today. And yet every time, Anakin leapt into the thick of the battle, his lightsaber ignited and his movements deadly sharp. Obi-Wan followed, but he didn’t have the same enthusiasm his Padawan seemed to feel. Maybe they would balance each other out. Their clone troopers were finishing up their own skirmish a few meters away. Combining tactics was still a work in progress.
“You could at least look less cheerful about it,” Obi-Wan said.
“We’re doing our jobs, Master,” Anakin said. “We’re helping people who need it and restoring justice and order. What is not to like?”
Four clones did not get up. That did darken Anakin’s face. A fifth trooper went to stand near her fallen comrades. She took her helmet off, long dark braids shaking loose. Anakin watched as she placed each trooper’s hands on his chest.
“We can pick them up on our way out,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” the trooper said. “We leave our brothers’ helmets where they fall.”
Anakin watched as she took each helmet and lined them up underneath a nearby tree. It wasn’t much of a monument, but it was better than nothing. Clone armor took a very long time to degrade. Anyone who came this way in the next decade or so would know.
“What’s your name, trooper?”
“Sister,” she said. “It’s how my brothers tell everyone I belong.”
“Belonging is important,” Anakin said. He knew that better than most.
“I was afraid, before I left Kamino,” Sister said. “We don’t really know what happens to unusual clones. But my brothers never let me doubt. I wasn’t sure if the Jedi would understand.”
“The Jedi are all about transcending things,” Anakin said. “I don’t think we can complain if you’ve transcended gender.”
“Transcended gender,” Sister said. “We’ll work on it, but I like where it’s heading.”
Anakin laughed. He liked the clones, all of them. They were developing individuality quickly, and it made Anakin feel more comfortable fighting alongside them. He understood droids, and knew better than most how to work with them, but he preferred people now that he was in a position to protect them. Also, they were so much more fun than the Jedi, and their approach to life—to war—was much more similar to his own.
“Let’s get back before General Kenobi thinks we’ve deserted,” he said.
Obi-Wan had gone to talk to Commander Cody, R2-D2 trailing behind him. The droid didn’t seem to mind the rocky terrain, toddling along slowly but surely.
“I wish we had better cover,” Obi-Wan mused, looking out at the rocky plain and wishing for more than the occasional bantha-sized boulder. “I hate losing troopers like this.”
Cody nodded. Clone production continued now that the war was fully engaged. The Republic needed more troops. The Republic also, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, needed more generals, but no one had asked him about that. At the very least, he could tell the Jedi Council that Anakin was ready for the trials. They would still stay together as often as possible if Obi-Wan could arrange it, but Anakin would have his own troopers and a higher rank. It wasn’t done very often, but these were unusual circumstances, and Obi-Wan was sure that Anakin was up to the task.
Commander Cody sounded an alarm along their secure comm: more Separatist droids were incoming. Obi-Wan watched as Anakin lifted one of the massive boulders. One of Cody’s troopers covered him. Anakin threw the rock directly into the approaching ranks as his opening salvo. It was effective, if a little bit showy.
They would talk about it later.
The ship Captain Typho had selected for their mission was a Wookiee vessel called the Namrelllew. Padmé and Typho were due to report on board in two more days. Their official job was to ensure the safe delivery of the supplies the Namrelllew was carrying: the merchants aboard were seasoned spacers but less accustomed to doing any fighting. Thus, Padmé and Typho would be responsible for the physical safety of the crew and the cargo, while the crew would be in charge of operations. Padmé could easily imagine the expression on Captain Panaka’s face at the idea of them being at the mercy of unknown beings to get them safely to their destination. But she was older now, and more experienced, and she knew how to take precautions without his oversight.
Accordingly, Padmé selected her Naboo pilot uniform for travel. It wasn’t a particularly recognizable livery and even less so once she had stripped all the heraldry and Naboo-specific design elements off. She spent an evening distressing the leather trousers and tunic, making them appear more worn than they were without compromising their defense design. Typho was quite pleased to leave his uniform hat behind, also choosing the modified Naboo pilot gear. They could wear helmets on the slight chance they came across anyone who would recognize their faces, and they would have a secure comlink between just the two of them. Padmé tried very hard not to think about what had happened the last time she and Typho wore these disguises. At least this time she was putting only him at risk, not anyone else.
She intentionally did not use C-3PO to reach out to Anakin. She considered it at some length, trying to come up with a suitable code and even drafting a few messages, but in the end she decided against it. Yes, he was her husband, but she was a senator, and this was her job. The mission was need-to-know, and strictly speaking, he didn’t need to know. The only reason she had to tell him was that they were married, and their marriage was a secret. She would treat him the way she would if they were nothing to each other. It was not an easy call to make, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last time she did it. She knew he would understand. He would have to keep Jedi missions a secret from her, as well, and she understood that perfectly.
It was harder than she thought, balancing a new marriage with her work. She didn’t have a lot of time to establish new habits, and therefore it was easier to just keep everything a secret. Once she started explaining things—to Anakin or to Sabé–she felt like she might never stop. She didn’t have time for that right now, so she opted to hold everything back. After this mission, surely, things would be quiet for long enough that she could hammer out some details with Anakin about their procedures and tell Sabé all of her good news.
She didn’t enjoy keeping secrets from those she loved, of course, but it was the easiest path for now. The war couldn’t last for very long. The Republic would help the Separatist planets understand that people like the Trade Federation did not have their best interests at heart, and then the conflict would be over. Too many good people were working on solutions, too many good people wanted peace, for the war to drag on. She was an idealist, and she wasn’t about to change that now. The artist Kharl was right: it was time to bring a little bit of Naboo to the rest of the galaxy.
The night before they were due to depart, Senator Amidala attended the opera with Senator Organa. She brought two handmaidens along with her, both hooded in muted tones of green and burgundy. The senator wore a dress of deep green, embroidered with sea-green highlights that wove vines of some imaginary plant around her form. The long skirt was heavy, supported underneath by a blaster-proof petticoat. The bodice was a touch less formal than anything she might have worn on the Senate floor, leaving the tops of her shoulders exposed, even though the stomacher near came up to her collarbones. Her hair was down, but woven through it were the same vines from her dress, making it look like they were all attached at the root.
