Queen''s Shadow

by E. K. Johnston

“To Sabé,” said Padmé, and raised her glass a final time. She didn’t say anything else, because there was nothing else that needed to be said.

  Yané stood to collect the glasses and placed them on a side table, out of the way. The circle shifted, drew closer together as they sat on cushions on the floor, and Padmé took a brush to Sabé’s hair. Traditionally, none of them showed much in the way of personal affection in public. It was an identifying feature, and the strongest part of the handmaidens’ defense was their anonymity. These private moments were to be treasured, and Yané hoped there would be an infinite number of them in the days to come. She leaned on Saché’s shoulder.

  “What will you do, Padmé?” she asked. It was a relief to say the name.

  “The queen’s request is reasonable,” Padmé said. “Though I hadn’t considered it an option until she brought it up.”

  “But then you’d have to leave Naboo,” Saché pointed out. “Chancellor Palpatine was almost never at home when he was a senator.”

  “I know,” Padmé said. “But things are different now, and it’s possible that I could spend more time here, even if I was a senator.”

  “What about the answer you gave Palpatine when he asked you about your plans?” Rabé asked.

  “He asked you that?” Eirtaé said, mildly scandalized. It had been a breach of protocol to ask so personal a question, even if Palpatine was a friend.

  “He surprised me with the question,” Padmé said. “I didn’t mean to tell him before I told any of you, and then everything happened at once.”

  Eirtaé flopped dramatically across several pillows and looked at Padmé expectantly.

  “I had thought I would go back to Tatooine,” Padmé admitted, “and see what steps I could take towards freeing people there.”

  There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the steady brush of Sabé’s hair.

  “Well, you certainly never do anything by half,” Mariek said. They all jumped, and Padmé waved her over. Mariek dragged a chair with her. “In case my husband has a sudden vision of me sitting on the floor while I’m on duty and a coronary as a result.”

  “He’s retired,” Yané pointed out. “I think you’re actually in charge now.”

  “It’s pending,” Mariek said. “I’d hate to get ahead of myself.”

  “What do you think, Mariek?” Padmé asked, her eyes still firmly on the back of Sabé’s head. “Do you think it’s foolish?”

  “Yes,” said Mariek. She had been in favor of the ion pulse, which they all knew—but never discussed—had put a strain on her marriage. “But most of your ideas are, and they’ve turned out all right so far.”

  “You weren’t going to go by yourself, were you?” Saché asked delicately. No one looked at Sabé.

  “Of course she wasn’t,” Rabé said.

  “Chancellor Palpatine told us he’s overseeing a bill to address slavery in the Senate,” Padmé told them. “He suggested I wait and see how his efforts fare.”

  There was another long pause.

  “You could have more of an impact if you were in the Senate,” Eirtaé said. “You could help more planets than just Tatooine.”

  “The Senate takes years to get anything done,” Yané argued back. “And we all know from direct experience how well they pay attention to events that aren’t personally lighting them on fire! You would get more done with a good ship and connections on Tatooine itself.”

  They would have squabbled then, which was something that almost never happened in Padmé’s presence, had Sabé not leaned forward.

  “If only,” she said, “you knew of a way to be in two places at once.”

  The brush stilled.

  “There’s a difference between asking you to come with me and sending you alone,” Padmé said. In either case, Tatooine was hardly an easy destination.

  “I know,” Sabé said calmly.

  This was a line Yané had watched them skirt for all the years they had been friends. Padmé knew in her heart that Sabé would do whatever she asked, even if it meant Sabé’s life, and therefore she was always careful never to ask too much.

  “It could be dangerous,” Padmé said. “You might not be able to do what we want to do.”

  “I know,” Sabé said. “But I want to try. For you, for them, and also for me. I’ve done things as you that were worthy of heroism. It might be nice to do them with your backing and my own face for a change.”

  Padmé pulled her around so she could see Sabé’s face. They were used to communicating without eye contact, but Yané understood the need for it now, when something truly important was being discussed.

  “So you become the senator for Naboo and the Chommel sector,” Mariek said, breaking the moment and bringing them all back into focus. “I’m coming with you, and I imagine my nephew Typho will come, as well.”

  “I can’t take you away from home now,” Padmé said. It was the closest they’d ever come to a direct discussion, such was Padmé’s respect of boundaries and personal politics.

  “Quarsh had his chance to travel the galaxy with you,” Mariek said. “He’ll understand that now it’s mine.”

  It hung there for a moment, and then Padmé acquiesced. “All right,” she said. She turned her gaze toward Rabé and Eirtaé, who were whispering in the corner.

  “You are not changing your plans,” she said in tones that brooked no argument.

  “Padmé—” Rabé began, but Padmé held up a hand.

  “No, I need you here,” she said. “I need to know that Naboo is still my home, a place where art and peace are honored the most. I want you to have that, even if I am going to have to wait for it.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Eirtaé said. Rabé could only nod.

  “Saché, you will write to me if you need advice,” Padmé continued. “Yané, if you need more funds or to exploit a connection I have, you will write, as well.”

  “Of course,” Yané said.

  “I suppose that leaves Captain Tonra for you,” Padmé said, and Sabé nodded.

  “This is for the best,” Mariek said. “Réillata will want to fill the ranks with her own people anyway.”

  “We should call them in here, if we’re volunteering them for extended offworld missions,” Padmé said.

  Yané rose to her feet and went to the door. Captain Tonra departed down the hallway to where Typho was stationed while Yané came back in and began to arrange chairs. Pillows on the floor were well enough for a private meeting, but this required something a bit firmer. The captain and sergeant could not have looked more different in appearance. Tonra was tall, with dark hair and a wide forehead. Sergeant Typho was solidly built, with brown skin and broad shoulders. He was Mariek Panaka’s nephew, but he hadn’t needed any help from his family connections to achieve his position. His eye patch gave him a slightly roguish appearance—which he was not above using to his advantage—and he was much more jovial than the other guards. The two held in common an unswerving loyalty to Naboo, and to Padmé herself.

  “Thank you for joining us,” Padmé said. She spoke in her own formal voice, not Amidala’s. Yané felt her pulse speed up. They were really doing this.

  “Of course, my lady,” Tonra said, though he sounded bemused.

  “I have decided to accept the queen’s request, and serve as Naboo’s senator in the Galactic Republic,” she announced. “Captain Mariek has volunteered to accompany me there as a guard. Sergeant Typho, we—I—am hoping that you will join us, as well.”

  Typho stood up and straightened his shoulders.

  “It would be my honor, Your Highness,” he said.

  “I don’t ask as your queen anymore, Sergeant,” she reminded him gently. “You would be volunteering to leave the planet for extended periods of time.”

  “I understand, my lady,” Typho said. “I still wish to serve.”

  “Thank you,” Padmé said. She turned to Tonra, who was waiting for her. “Captain, Sabé will be going on a separate mission that she will
outline to you later in private. It is my dearest wish that you would accompany her.”

  Tonra and Sabé exchanged a look, and Sabé nodded.

  “I will go with Sabé wherever she needs me to go,” he said. “And I imagine that she will guard my back as well as I will guard hers.”

  “She had better,” Padmé said. “I need you both.”

  “You’re going to need new handmaidens,” Yané said.

  “Senators don’t have them,” Padmé pointed out.

  “Senators have aides,” Saché said. “Yours should be handmaidens.”

  “They’re correct,” Sabé said. “If you’re going to make sure the rest of us are safe and protected, then you should be, too.”

  “It took Panaka months and months to train all of you,” Padmé pointed out. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

  “You don’t need the same type of protection that you did as queen,” Yané said. “The most important requirement for us was a double for your face before the rest of our skills were considered. Your new aides don’t need to be limited to your appearance, as long as they can double for your brain. You need confidants you trust completely. You need people to listen at parties. You need people who fade into the background and pick up on what your opponents are trying to hide from you. If you are in dire straits, you can call in Sabé, but for everyday operations, two or three loyal handmaidens should be able to cover you.”

  “My niece—on the other side from Typho—Versaat is the right age,” Mariek said. “I will send her a holo tonight. She isn’t a physical match for you, my lady, but I know she is loyal, and she has other talents.”

  “There was a girl—Cordyn? I think?” Rabé said. “She was with us in Panaka’s training, but she didn’t make the final cut. She wasn’t very good at combat, but she matched your appearance very closely, and you’ll still need one double, I think, though Yané’s point is a good one.”

  “My lady, if I may?” Typho said.

  “Please, Sergeant,” Padmé said. “Speak your mind.”

  “One of my classmates from the security forces training might suit you,” he said. “She was in the top echelon of each of our courses.”

  “Why didn’t she graduate with you?” Sabé asked.

  “She stayed on to take the extra courses,” Typho said.

  Panaka’s privately run program for the queen’s handmaidens had gone semipublic after the Battle of Naboo, and the academy began offering modified versions of his training as official coursework to be taken after graduation.

  “What is her name, Sergeant?” Padmé asked.

  “Dorra, my lady,” he replied. “I can send her a message as soon as my shift is over.”

  “Do it now, Sergeant,” Padmé said. “Don’t worry about us. You can use the console in Saché’s rooms and leave the door open to maintain your line of sight.”

  “Come on,” Yané said to Eirtaé. “Let’s go separate Padmé’s gowns from the royal ones. If she’s still working for the government, she can pack more than we had originally laid out for her.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Padmé said.

  “We don’t,” said Eirtaé. “But we will.”

  “I’ll write messages to the applicants,” Rabé said. “Or whatever we’re calling them. I suppose they hardly know they have applied. Typho, if you’ll wait for a moment, we can send them all at once.”

  “I’ll help,” Saché said. “I can use my new access to track down Cordyn.”

  The guards returned to their positions, and Sabé and Padmé found themselves alone in the middle of a mass of pillows and chairs.

  “Look at how fast the world turns when you ask it to,” Sabé said.

  “You should know,” Padmé said. “You’re the one turning it.”

  “I won’t let you fall off,” Sabé told her. She reached out, and Padmé took her hands.

  “I know,” Padmé said.

  There was a moment of quiet between them, and then Sabé asked the last question that pulled at her.

  “What are you going to tell your parents?”

  “I should have already told them,” Padmé admitted. “I had a free hour this afternoon, and I knew as soon as the queen said it. I knew I would serve. Am I selfish?”

  “Are you doing this for your own glory?” Sabé asked. Padmé shook her head. “Then no. Generous to a fault, perhaps, and maybe someone who didn’t know you would think you were selfish, but I know you, and I’d kick them.”

  She handed Padmé a datapad and looked up to catch Mariek’s eye. Once she had the guard’s attention, she indicated that she was going to accompany Padmé out onto the balcony to make the call. Mariek nodded, and Sabé pulled Padmé to her feet.

  On the balcony, she gave Padmé as much space as she could. Her position as Padmé’s chief double put her closer to the official guards than the others, which was why Mariek let the pair of them out of her sight. At the core of it, though, Padmé was her friend, and she couldn’t help eavesdropping.

  “Hi, Mom,” Padmé said. It was her most exposed voice, the one that Sabé never even tried to duplicate. “Is Dad around?”

  A few moments passed, and then both of Padmé’s parents glinted blue in the dim light. Her father was brushing sawdust from his hands.

  “Queen Réilatta has asked me to serve as Naboo’s new senator,” Padmé said after a brief exchange of greetings. “I’ve said yes.”

  No one heard Padmé Amidala sound this vulnerable and desperate for approval. It would have been a political nightmare. But this was Padmé Naberrie, talking with three people she trusted absolutely.

  Ruwee and Jobal shared a look, communicating as easily as Padmé could have done with any of her handmaidens, though they had a different reason to be so practiced at it.

  “I can’t say I’m happy you’ll be leaving,” Jobal said. “But your father and I are so proud of you.”

  “Just don’t forget where you came from when you get out there again,” Ruwee added. “Galactic politics can make you feel small and, well, I’m sure you’ve already started to figure that out.”

  “I won’t,” Padmé said. “And I promise I’ll be careful.”

  It was such an odd thing to say, like Padmé was asking permission to go on a school trip, that Sabé almost laughed.

  “Give my love to Sola,” Padmé said. “I’ll write when I have settled in.”

  Sabé gave her even more distance to finish her good-byes and didn’t move for several moments after the blue light had disappeared. She watched as Padmé straightened, her professional walls and masks sliding back into place. Without a word, Sabé opened the balcony door and led her back inside.

  Yané was bustling toward them with several of Padmé’s plainest dresses in her arms.

  “Sabé, try these on,” she demanded. “They’re from before the last time you grew, and if we have to alter them, I’d rather know it now.”

  Sabé stood still as Padmé pulled the first dress over her head and helped Yané pin the parts where adjustments needed to be made. They had grown up on Naboo, and it had been good to them. Now it was time to grow someplace else.

  Longtime political followers will recall young Queen Amidala of Naboo. Four years ago she came to Coruscant and deposed the Chancellor to questionably hasten along aid for her home planet. Though no hard evidence of the Trade Federation’s misdeeds was ever produced, Amidala swayed the opinion of the Senate. Her speech, which was most likely written for her, given her age at the time, was stirring…and we can’t help wondering what she’ll stir up this time.

  Now a senator for the Galactic Republic, Amidala has returned. A puppet queen no longer, surely, but the question remains: who is pulling her strings now?

  —TriNebulon News

  The first six weeks of any senator’s term were highly controlled by Republic protocol, and at five and three-quarter weeks in, Senator Amidala had had about enough. There was a great deal to learn, but she had always been a fast learner, and being
hemmed in on every side by tradition and expectation was starting to wear on her. Fortunately, her ire could find a specific target in an uncaring droid designated NON-3.

  “Senator,” the droid began. There was something odd about the droid’s vocal processor that shifted the way it said its vowels. It always took a moment for Padmé to figure out what it was saying, but every time she had requested a repair, she had been informed there was nothing wrong. “I remind you that you are scheduled for your final tour of the lower levels of the Senate building today. On this tour, you will observe and come to understand the inner workings of the building itself, beyond its cosmetic appearance, so that you might take advantage of its many amenities while you are in the assembly.”

  Padmé did her best not to tear her hair out. Dormé, formerly Dorra, had done an excellent job with it today. A small mercy of the senatorial training period had been that Padmé had gotten to know her new trio of handmaidens at the same time. Each of them had done her the courtesy of taking a new name. Though the public reason given was still anonymity, Padmé did not mistake the honor they showed her.

  Cordé, formerly Cordyn, who had failed Panaka’s initial training because she wasn’t good with a blaster, had stepped into Sabé’s shoes without hesitation. She had already mastered Padmé’s physical mannerisms, and she was a near perfect voice match. Dormé, who had come out of the same security training that produced Typho and Tonra, proved a more-than-capable wardrobe mistress, and Padmé knew she was already planning updates and modifications to the senatorial dresses. Versé, formerly Versaat, was a top-notch slicer, though both she and her aunt Mariek remained close-lipped on how she’d acquired those skills. In addition to fortifying Padmé’s digital security measures, she was gradually reprogramming the apartment to be more functional and comfortable for the group. Mariek and Typho rounded out the rest of Padmé’s closest companions, along with a few other handpicked guards.

  She missed Sabé like she would miss the sun.

  Perhaps that was the real reason all of the tours and orientations were starting to get on her nerves. And there seemed to be no end. She had toured every corner of the Senate building, except the private offices of the other senators, of course, and she had witnessed how the complex operated. It was almost the exact same as when she had been in the junior legislative program, which made her feel like she was mired in busywork. She disliked the feeling tremendously and constantly battled not to take it out on those around her. She had seen very little of Coruscant in the meantime and almost no governmental procedure, except a few carefully moderated sessions with the other new senators. The outgoing Senator Oshadam was polite and helpful but clearly ready to leave as soon as she could.