“We all have our disguises,” Typho mused. Padmé could see him incorporating the astromech into their defense plan out of sheer habit. “There is an advantage to using droids for security. People are suspicious when there are guards around, but they’re much more likely to dismiss a droid.”
“There, you see?” Padmé said. “I can think about my own security if I have to.”
“I’m very proud, my lady,” Typho said dryly. “But I still have to run it past Mariek before we can let you try it.”
“Of course, Sergeant Typho,” she said.
Together, they boarded the shuttle, and Typho directed the driver to return them to the senatorial residence. Padmé looked out over Coruscant as they flew. The Jedi Temple gleamed in the evening sun, and Padmé felt a stab of guilt. She had stopped looking for Shmi Skywalker and it was because she didn’t know how to continue. She felt like she’d broken a promise even though she hadn’t made one, and she didn’t know what to do but trust in the system Sabé had found evidence of on Tatooine itself. She didn’t like letting go.
Padmé looked past the shining lights of Coruscant’s wealthy upper levels and down into the poorer, more dangerous parts of the city-planet. She couldn’t see very far. She had the idea that was how Coruscant liked it. Naboo had tried that once, dividing the population against itself, and the result had been almost world ending. Padmé resolved to pay attention, not just listen, and not just look but see.
Sabé took a drink of her decidedly inferior caf and tried not to look impatient. This particular contact was chronically late but gave up reliable intelligence, so she hoped her time would be productive. Kooib-s Guvar was a holojournalist for one of Coruscant’s most prestigious newsnets, but she moonlighted at a far more disreputable establishment, as well, writing for the tabloids for extra credits. Since she played both sides, she always had the best access. Tonra had made the initial contact, posing as a journalism student who was eager to do anything to break into the market, and passed her off to Sabé before things got too serious.
Their meeting spot was the place Tonra liked so much, a not completely awful diner called Dex’s. Sabé had to admit that the food was decent enough. More important, the clientele was boisterous and fast changing, which provided good cover. Today, Sabé was in one of the booths: two hard plasteel benches with a table between them. Tonra preferred the counter, where he could perch on a stool and watch the multilimbed proprietor at work in the kitchen, but Sabé didn’t like to have her back exposed.
“Tsabin,” Kooib-s said, sliding onto the bench across from her.
Kooib-s was a hairless humanoid female who was only a little bit taller than Sabé. She had mottled purple skin, bright blue eyes, a wide nose, and pointed teeth. Her hands had seven digits, and Sabé assumed her feet did, too, though she could hardly ask her to take off her shoes. The top of her head was ringed with short red spikes that came to a needle-fine point two centimeters from her skull. It was rude to stare, but Sabé found herself mesmerized by Kooib-s’s appearance. She didn’t always go for nonhumans, but it happened on occasion, particularly with interesting females.
“What have you got?” Sabé asked, waving the service droid over and ordering two more cafs. They were deposited on the table immediately, and Kooib-s picked one up and sniffed it.
“Ugh,” she said. She set the cup down. “The senator from Chandrila is having a party next week. It’s suspected that she will use the gathering as a cover to discuss something with a few handpicked senators, but we don’t know what.”
“Why do you care what the senator from Chandrila does at a private function?” Sabé asked.
“Because it’s not a private function,” Kooib-s said. “It’s going to be the first time she hosts a public gala, so the newsnets will be there in full force.”
“How can she possibly expect to have a private discussion then?” Sabé had been reading up on Mon Mothma, and the woman was hardly stupid.
“She plans to invite someone to be a distraction,” Kooib-s
said.
Sabé sighed. The list of possible distractions was very short.
“I’m going to figure it out, you know,” Kooib-s said.
“Figure out what?” Sabé was new to this particular game but was well accustomed to keeping a straight face.
“What it is you want,” Kooib-s said. “Why you’re so interested in the Senate all the time.”
“I like to know what the government is up to,” Sabé said through her teeth. “I’m a concerned citizen.”
“Of course you are,” Kooib-s said. “And I’m a dancer at the Galaxies Opera House.”
Sabé looked her up and down. “You could be.”
“Why, Tsabin!” Kooib-s said, placing a hand over what Sabé assumed was the center of her cardiopulmonary system. The journalist laughed. “You should leave the flirting to Tonra. He’s much better at it.”
“That’s not particularly reassuring,” Sabé said.
“You just need to see him in action,” Kooib-s said, smiling. “I’m not the only one who could fit right in at the opera house.”
She poured her caf on the floor underneath the table, much to the consternation of the service droids, and left. Sabé settled the bill but lingered over her own cup even though it was going cold.
She needed to find a new contact. If Kooib-s was investigating them, even just to keep them on their toes, she might get too close to their real purpose. She didn’t like to lose Kooib-s as an asset, but it was better to play it safe. No one could know that Sabé’s chief interest in the government was Senator Amidala. From now on, they would only utilize Kooib-s Guvar if they had exhausted their other options.
The droid was hovering, clearly hoping Sabé would leave and free up the table, so that was exactly what she did. She held the door open for a small boy with dark hair and dark eyes as he struggled under the weight of a large carryout tray. He looked up at her briefly and then at her wrist, where she wore the communicator that linked her to Tonra. It was expensive tech that she’d bashed around to look cheaper, but the boy clearly wasn’t fooled for an instant. He met Sabé’s eyes again, and she set her mouth in a hard line.
“Apologies, ma’am,” he said, ducking under her arm with his tray and scurrying off down the street.
Sabé watched him go, making a mental note to further modify the communicator as soon as possible, and then made her way back to the apartment she and Tonra had rented. She used the tiny washroom, picked up a bag of dried durang fruit from the kitchen, and locked herself in the closet attached to her bedroom. She ran a sweep for listening devices and then activated the signal that would catch the attention of Padmé, or Versé if Padmé wasn’t home.
“Sabé?” the holo of Versé appeared in front of her.
“I need to talk to Padmé when she gets home,” Sabé said. “It’s too important to mess around with setting up a time, so I’ll just wait.”
“She could be hours,” Versé said.
“I brought snacks,” Sabé told her.
“All right,” Versé said. “I’ll let her know.”
The holo deactivated, plunging the closet into darkness. Sabé stretched as best she could and settled in to wait.
Padmé arrived home wanting nothing more than plain conversation with people she trusted. Her encounter with Mon Mothma was more unsettling the more she thought about it, and her cryptic tea with Senator Bonteri had only made her more paranoid. She was barely out of her senatorial gown and into her soft green lounging robes when Versé came in.
“Sabé wants to talk to you,” Versé said. Seeing that Dormé and Cordé were occupied putting the dress back in the wardrobe, she began to take down Padmé’s hair. “She said she would wait by the transmitter rather than going back and forth to set up a time.”
Padmé sighed. “How long ago?” she asked.
“Just over two hours,” Versé said. “She had snacks.”
“Don’t wait for me for dinner,” Padmé said. “J
ust keep something warm.”
“All right,” Versé said. “Also, you received this.”
“This” was a disposable holorecorder, the sort that could be programmed to play one message and store it but didn’t have the capacity for transmission. Padmé activated it and was surprised when a tiny holo of Mon Mothma appeared in her hand.
“Senator Amidala,” the figure said, “I would like to invite you, your three aides, and as many of your guards as you deem necessary to a gala event that I am hosting next week.”
“All three of us?” Cordé said, but then fell silent as the message continued.
Padmé listened to the details and passed the device to Dormé, who would enter them into her calendar.
“I’ll talk to Sabé first, and then we’ll deal with this,” she said.
The three of them bowed and left her alone. Padmé removed the transmitter that was linked to Sabé’s apartment from her desk, and turned it on.
“What news?” she said when Sabé’s figure appeared.
“Senator Mon Mothma is hosting a gala,” Sabé said.
“I know,” Padmé said. “I just got the invitation. It’s for me, all three of my handmaidens, and a couple of guards.”
“That’s magnanimous,” Sabé said. “My sources think that Mothma will use the gala as a cover to have private talks with like-minded senators, though they don’t know the topic the senators will be like-minded on.”
“She can’t do that in public,” Padmé said. “Unless there’s a—”
“Distraction,” Sabé finished.
“And what better distraction than Senator Amidala,” Padmé said. It was not a question.
“Will you go?” Sabé asked.
“I’ll have to,” Padmé said. “And they’re expecting three handmaidens, so switching one out for me is too risky. They’ve all spent time in the Senate building as visible support for the senator persona. ‘Padmé’ doesn’t have the anonymity she used to, especially if someone is counting hoods.”
Padmé drummed her fingers on the surface of her dressing table, her mind whirring through possibilities.
“I can’t be the focus of attention at the gala,” she said finally. “I have to hear what they’re actually talking about. I have to see it. Their tone and body language, not just a report about it. I had a very strange conversation with Mon Mothma today, and an even stranger one with Mina Bonteri afterward. They both wanted to discuss my loyalty to the Republic, but I think there’s something larger at play, and I have to know what it is.”
“How many guards can you bring?” Sabé asked. The image flickered, and Padmé could tell she was writing things down.
“As many as I deem necessary,” Padmé said, using the invitation’s wording. “I have the standard complement of six, but I never use them all at the same time.”
“I could go in as one of your guards,” Sabé said. “And then we could change places after we all clear security.”
“You want to do an on-site switch in an unknown location?” Padmé clarified. “We haven’t done that in a while.”
“We’d have a week to prep,” Sabé pointed out. “That’s approximately one hundred sixty-seven more hours than we had to prepare for the Invasion of Naboo.”
“Do you think you can learn everything about the Senate in that amount of time?” Padmé asked. “You’ll have to sleep at some point.”
“I can do it,” Sabé said. “I was the best at being your decoy because I was the best at pretending to be you. Even if I don’t know all the details, I can say what you would say.”
“I’d still be more comfortable if you came here for a week so we could brief you,” Padmé said. “Will Tonra be all right on his own?”
“He’ll be fine,” Sabé said. “He won’t be happy, but he’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think Typho and Mariek will be happy, either,” Padmé said. “Considering that Panaka trained us specifically with the decoy maneuver in mind, the guards get very upset when we deploy it.”
“At least you’ll tell them this time,” Sabé said. “That will make them feel better.”
“I hope you’re right,” Padmé said. “Versé will transmit the details of how we’re going to get you into the residence as soon as we have them figured out. You don’t need to wait around by the transmitter for them.”
“Good,” said Sabé. “It’s a little cramped in this closet, and I can hear Tonra moving around outside. I think he’s starting to get nervous.”
“Go tell him the plan,” Padmé said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Sabé nodded, and then her image flickered and disappeared. Padmé took a moment to gather herself. She looked in the mirror and realized that Versé had pulled out all the pins but hadn’t had time to uncoil her hair. She looked bizarre, and wondered why Sabé hadn’t said anything. Padmé took a few moments to fix the mess and then wove her hair into a simple braid down her back. She put on a pair of soft shoes and went in search of dinner.
The others were halfway through their stuffed Rodian peppers by the time she arrived at the table, and Cordé took the cover off the plate they had kept warm for her.
“What did Sabé want?” Mariek asked.
Padmé gave them the details about Sabé’s intelligence regarding the party and the plan that they had come up with.
“Three handmaidens, three guards,” Mariek said. “It will look very nice when the newsnets publish pictures of us. We’ll have to wear the full Naboo version of the uniform with the hat, so we can obscure Sabé’s face.”
“That’s your only issue?” Typho said.
“Of course not,” Mariek said. “But they’re going to do it, and this time they told us about it, so I am going to offer constructive criticism.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Padmé said.
“Look at the bright side, Typho,” Dormé said. She put a hand on the sergeant’s arm. “The senator will be dressed in blaster-repelling armor, and you’ll be standing right next to her for almost the entire night.”
“Until she runs off to overhear whatever it is she needs to hear,” Typho said. “Though I am glad about the armor.”
“I promise to stay as close to you as possible,” Padmé said. She grinned impishly. “Though I’m assuming you’ll give us some space during the changeover.”
He actually blushed.
“How are we going to get Sabé in?” Dormé asked, gracefully getting them back on topic.
“Wouldn’t a simple switch work best?” Cordé said. “I mean, what if one of your guards went out, met Sabé somewhere, and then Sabé came back?”
“I agree,” Mariek said. “It can’t be the apartment, obviously, but I am sure we can find a location.”
“Who will you send?” Padmé asked.
“Corin,” Typho said. “He’s the only one short enough.”
“I will alter a uniform so it fits you and Sabé both,” Dormé said. “And start picking out what Amidala will wear. It’ll have to be an elaborate dress to justify a headpiece and the makeup we’ll need. And I’ll have to make sure the makeup kit is transportable so I can do it again on-site.”
“Twice,” said Typho. “We might have to switch them back at the party, as well.”
“Just like old times,” Mariek said with a grin. “And much easier when the planet isn’t about to be invaded by murderous Neimoidians.”
“It does take a bit of the edge off,” Padmé said. “Versé, I want you to find out as much about the venue as you can. We need to know what internal security is going to be like. If you need someone to actually go and look at it, send Tonra.”
With that, Padmé finally began to eat her pepper. Versé had been tinkering with the kitchen droid’s programming again. This pepper was significantly spicier than the previous attempts had been, as Versé tried to compensate for the droid’s Coruscanti base code. She smiled, her mouth still full, and Versé responded with a wide grin of her own. The others finished their meals, and Padmé dismissed them
to their tasks. Soon she sat alone, though Typho had not gone any farther than the door.
Her secret shame was how much she enjoyed the decoy maneuver. It was dangerous, only used when they absolutely needed it. They had done modified versions of it several times since arriving on Coruscant, but they’d only done a true switch—one with both Padmé and the decoy present—that time when the NON droid had malfunctioned—a malfunction that still hadn’t been explained, though everyone knew the Trade Federation’s affinity for droids. Now they would do it again, for the sake of Padmé’s curiosity and political ambition, and even though she was sure it was the right thing to do, Padmé wasn’t sure she could trust her own judgment. The ploy put Sabé, whom she cared for very deeply, in peril. So many things could go wrong; they could betray themselves a thousand ways, and the damage would be irreparable.
And she loved it.
She loved the thrill that accompanied watching someone talk to Sabé thinking it was Amidala whose attention they held. She loved the way people looked right through her, Padmé Naberrie, as though she were nothing. She loved taking that nothingness and using it to her own ends. And yes, it was for safety, and yes, her intentions were as noble as they had been on Naboo. She still remembered how she had looked at Captain Panaka over Sio Bibble’s head and he had nodded that it was time.
We are brave, Your Highness.
They were all brave. That was how the handmaidens were chosen, or at least it was a strong part of it. That was why Saché had scars on every part of her body: because they were brave. Padmé would never let herself forget it, never let herself dismiss what her friends did for her because they trusted her and believed what she was doing was right. They had stood by her as queen, and they were standing by her now, and she would do everything she could to make sure that she was worthy of their loyalty.
She felt at her neck for the locket, forgetting for a moment that she no longer wore it. She had given it to Sabé as a token, two girls on a planet watching the sky above them fill with starships that blocked them in. It had been a childish gesture, though no less genuine for its innocence, and one of the last such gestures she had ever made. The Trade Federation had seen to that. Sabé had tried to give the necklace back to her after the Battle of Naboo, as Padmé had directed, but by then, Padmé had changed her mind and told Sabé it was hers to keep, the thanks of a planet that would never fully appreciate what she had done.
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