Queen''s Shadow

by E. K. Johnston

  “We’re getting our landing clearance now,” Varbarós said to Sabé and everyone who was in general earshot.

  Sabé had spent most of the trip in the cockpit, watching the pilot as she worked the controls. She knew that Padmé would be happy to see her, but she still didn’t know the new handmaidens very well, and she didn’t want to get in the way of their routines as they prepared for a royal visit. She hadn’t been in a J-class ship for more than a year, and she enjoyed having the time to refamiliarize herself with the controls, and with Varbarós.

  She was telling the story of extricating Tonra from the clutches of their holojournalist source Kooib-s Guvar when the control tower at the Alderaanian capital of Aldera finally replied with their clearance orders. Sabé watched as Varbarós expertly navigated the descent to the landing platform. They landed at sunrise, which meant skirting the night side of the planet and coming down just across the light line. The platform was unmissable in the early morning light, even with the sun behind them, and Varbarós set the ship down so delicately that only Sabé’s knowledge of the craft’s operation indicated they were no longer flying.

  “Thank you, Varbarós,” Sabé said. “Don’t get into too much trouble while we’re at the palace.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Varbarós said. She would remain aboard in her quarters, though she was free to move about the cities on the planet’s surface if she wanted to.

  Sabé was dressed as a Naboo guard again, as much for simplicity’s sake as anything else. She made her way from the cockpit to the debarkation ramp and met up with Tonra, also in his uniform, and Typho. The ramp descended, and they made their way down to take up positions at the bottom. As she was walking, Sabé heard the door hiss open behind her and knew that Padmé had arrived.

  Padmé came down with Cordé and Versé flanking her while Dormé and Mariek walked behind. The handmaidens were dressed in blue and gray, and their hoods were down as a sign of respect to another world’s monarch. Padmé’s gown was purple, though Sabé knew that was an understatement of the complexity of the colors, since the skirt was made of dozens of layers of fabric, each a slightly different hue. It moved easily as she walked, even though it was quite a bit heavier than it looked, and didn’t give her any trouble on the incline. The bodice was tightly fitted and the neckline was decorated to match the skirt, giving the impression that a well-behaved purple cloud had descended upon Padmé’s shoulders. Her hair was down, but her curls were pinned here and there with white flowers brought from a Coruscant hydroponics unit. The handmaidens could have been wearing mynocks around their necks, and no one would have given them a second glance.

  The party that waited to greet them on the landing pad did not include the queen. Padmé had not expected it to, as she had rarely greeted visitors anywhere but the throne room when she had ruled on Naboo. She knew that local customs would be different, but a bit of familiarity went a long way to making her feel comfortable here, and she appreciated it. This was, after all, meant to be a recreational visit, not a political one. Padmé was very much looking forward to the break.

  Instead of the queen, it was Senator Organa who waited for them, with a small complement of guards standing around him. They appeared to be entirely ceremonial, and upon closer inspection, Padmé wasn’t even sure that they carried weapons. She knew Alderaan was peaceful, much like Chandrila, but she had expected a small show of force.

  “Senator,” said Organa when they were all standing on the platform. “Welcome to Alderaan.”

  “Thank you,” Padmé said. “Your world is a beautiful one.”

  “Come,” he said, smiling. “I know you didn’t make the journey just to see me.”

  “To be fair, I see you with some frequency,” Padmé said, and returned the gesture.

  He spoke to her as he did when they met in his office to discuss Senate operations off the clock—easily and relaxed, and she met his informality in kind. She didn’t know if it was just his nature or if Alderaan was more laid-back about this sort of thing. She had expected a hereditary monarchy to be more formal, not less, but she knew she’d find out soon enough what the common procedures were. She followed Organa into the airspeeder, and Cordé and Mariek came with her. Everyone else would follow in a second vehicle.

  The speeders traveled at a brisk pace toward the palace, though not at the breakneck speeds of Coruscant traffic. In fact, traffic around the palace was quite light. Looking down, Padmé saw that there were wide avenues lined with trees, and it appeared that the most common way to get around was to walk on those paths. At this time of the morning, many people were out, and Padmé could see clumps of them, presumably stopped for friendly conversation, either standing along the edges of the paths or sitting down in any of the several little gardens that were plotted out along the way. This left the sky refreshingly clear.

  “Air traffic picks up as you get further from the palace,” Organa said when Padmé commented on it. “Especially when you go towards the shipping platforms. But we try to keep the view intact as much as possible.”

  “I can understand why,” Mariek said. “It’s an excellent view.”

  “It reminds me of home, a bit,” Cordé said. “Only our mountains are gentler, and our capital is ringed by waterfalls.”

  “I have seen holos,” Organa said. “Naboo is a lovely place, as well, but I suppose we’re all rather partial to our own homes.”

  The airspeeder landed on a small pad, and everyone got off. Senator Organa escorted them into the palace via the main entrance, and they made their way toward the throne room.

  The hallways of the Alderaanian palace were wide and welcoming. Nothing about them was built to intimidate or dominate. In a galaxy where those with power so often built upward, each layer covering over the sins of the one beneath it in a blind reach toward the stars, the sprawling layout spoke of honesty and ownership and, moreover, of stewardship and responsibility.

  Before long they reached the great double doors that led to the throne room itself, and beyond that a blue-carpeted pathway that stretched toward a pair of thrones, though only one of them was occupied.

  “Senator, assembly,” Organa said, “allow me to introduce the Queen of Alderaan, Breha Organa.”

  Padmé’s check of protocol on the inbound flight had indicated that a former monarch need not bow to the Queen of Alderaan, but she inclined her head to be polite. She knew that behind her, her retinue would flawlessly execute the protocols they had been assigned.

  “Your Majesty,” Bail Organa said with a profound sort of affection that made Padmé’s heart flip, “it is my honor to present my colleague from the Galactic Senate of the Republic, representing the sovereign system of Naboo and its sector, Senator Padmé Amidala.”

  Padmé took a step forward, and Breha made eye contact with her for the first time. The Queen of Alderaan was older than Padmé by more than ten years, but she had an ageless look to her that Padmé recognized was the result of an excellent team of stylists. She wore a high-necked gown of silver and blue, with a wide skirt and a flat reinforced bodice to cover the pulmonodes that Padmé knew kept her alive. Her braid was twisted up on the top of her head, with the crown of Alderaan woven right into it, and she wore a veil down her back that covered the rest of her dark hair.

  “We are pleased you could come and visit us,” Breha said. Her voice was vibrant and pleasant to the ear, and she spoke as one who was accustomed to drawing attention to herself. “Planetary politics do not leave me much time for traveling offworld, and I am always glad to welcome my husband’s colleagues here instead.”

  “I recall those limitations,” Padmé said. She had left her planet only at gravest need, and even then under protest. “A senator has a bit more free time, but the difference is only recognizable because I have seen the schedule from your side, as well.”

  “Indeed,” Breha said. “I know you have come straight from your ship, but you have arrived in time for a late breakfast on the terrace, and if we go right awa
y, we will see the last bit of the sunrise on the lake.”

  If they went back to their rooms now, they would never be oriented to the right time. Padmé would just accept the invitation and hope that Alderaanian caf was effective.

  “That sounds marvelous,” she said.

  Breha came down off the terrace and took Padmé’s arm. She quickly introduced a few of her assembled ministers, and Padmé introduced Mariek, nearly tripping over “Captain Panaka,” because to both of them, that name still belonged to someone else. After a quick check to make sure their skirts were not about to tangle—both of them were professionals—the queen led them all toward the back of the throne room and through the door there. Padmé looked back at her handmaidens and realized that Bail had contrived to walk next to Sabé while Tonra followed with Typho by his side. She supposed she should have expected as much. It wasn’t as though Sabé was going to give away any trade secrets.

  It was a short walk to the terrace, and Breha still pointed out several different pieces of art that Padmé wanted to come back and take a longer look at later. She might have lingered by a particularly intricate water sculpture, but her traitorous stomach betrayed her and emitted a quiet rumble.

  “Here we are,” Breha said, leading them under a high arch and back into the sunlight.

  The view was breathtaking. A lake, much like she might find on Naboo, spread its fingers out between different mountains, its glassy surface reflecting the sun, just as Breha had promised. The differences from Naboo’s terrain began almost at the waterline, where the steep green peaks of mountains sprang up in place of Naboo’s gentler hills. They were tall and snowcapped, and one of them was wreathed by clouds like the ones Padmé had seen from orbit.

  “That’s Appenza Peak,” Breha said. She placed a hand on her chest when she spoke, and Padmé thought the gesture looked automatic. “It’s the most famous mountain on Alderaan.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Padmé said.

  “And treacherous.” Senator Organa came close to draw out his wife’s chair and hand her into it. His fingers rested in hers for a moment longer than was truly necessary.

  Breha directed them all to their chairs, and food was brought. The caf was, as hoped, effective, and Padmé felt her mind clearing a little bit as the chemicals recharged her brain.

  “That mountain is the one that took my lungs and heart,” Breha said quietly once her husband was safely out of earshot and engaged in a discussion with Sabé and Mariek.

  “From everything I have heard of you, your heart was not the mountain’s to take,” Padmé said.

  “Oh, I am sure there are songs about it,” Breha said. “How I gave my heart to Alderaan. Only this time the poets are being literal. And a bit gruesome. Though I suppose I am the one who decided not to regrow my skin.”

  “We all show our dedication in separate ways,” Padmé said. “The office of Queen of Naboo requires a certain suspension of self. Sometimes I feel like I am still pulling my individuality back in, though there are of course many who would argue that I was too personal in my actions as monarch.”

  “It is refreshing to know that elected monarchs and hereditary ones share similar critiques,” Breha said. “When I refused the skin grafts, they said I was being too showy.”

  The minister of culture, sitting to Padmé’s left, was turning a little green, so Breha changed the subject to spare his stomach.

  They spoke of the intricacies of being queen, delighting in the aspects of their rulerships that were the same and dissecting all the ways they were different. Senator Organa interrupted at one point to tell the story of the first time he was presented at the royal court, and Mariek responded by telling hers. By the time everyone was finished eating and the tables were cleared off, Padmé was even more glad that she had come.

  “We have nothing else planned for the day, if you and your people would prefer to rest,” Breha said, leaning back in her chair and holding up her face to Alderaan’s clear sun. “There will be concerts and tours of Aldera’s galleries, as well as a trip up one of our gentler mountains to look forward to.”

  Padmé looked down the table and saw Cordé link her fingers in her lap, which was the sign that indicated splitting up would be all right.

  “If you could show anyone who would like to rest to their rooms?” Padmé said. “For my part, I would like to return to some of the artwork we passed. I get the feeling I could spend a lifetime looking at pieces here and never see everything.”

  “I would be happy to walk with you,” Breha said. A minister—Padmé thought of finance, but she looked a great deal like the minister of agriculture, so Padmé wasn’t sure—made as if to protest and then decided against it.

  They made their way back to the water sculpture, and Padmé lost herself in contemplation of it. Incorporating shape, aesthetic, and sound, the sculpture was fascinating from every angle and equally interesting when Padmé closed her eyes.

  “I have been thinking about what you said about suspension of self,” Breha said when Padmé opened her eyes again. Clearly, she had not wished to interrupt, but now they walked again. “It is almost the opposite for me. Being queen required my entire self, treacherous mountain or no. Maybe that is the greatest difference between our styles of government.”

  “Well,” said Padmé. “I don’t have much say in my successor. In fact, I am encouraged to be as neutral as possible in public.”

  Breha laughed. “You’re correct about that,” she said. “Bail and I have talked about it extensively. My mother gave birth to me, but my father was onworld for her entire pregnancy and for several months afterwards. Bail doesn’t have that kind of flexibility, and we’re reluctant to rely on certain ministers to give up power if we have to cede it to them for a brief period.”

  Padmé recalled the minister of finance—or agriculture—and agreed with Breha’s thought process. Maintaining a rulership, whether inherited or elected, was a balancing act, and giving power away was much easier than taking it back. Breha could trust her husband to be selfless, but others might give in to temptation.

  “What will you do?” Padmé asked.

  “We haven’t made that decision yet,” Breha said. “As long as there is continuation of the name Organa, the old houses will accept it.”

  “My sister just had a baby, her first,” Padmé said. “That’s the only reason I hesitated before accepting your invitation. It’s put me in a mind to think about the future in a different sort of way than I usually do.”

  “My mother told me that she had a similar shift in her thinking after I was born,” Breha said. “And I imagine that I will, too, however my child comes to me.”

  “Sola has no interest in a partner,” Padmé said. “It’s normal enough on Naboo. I think I would like what my parents have, though. Or some version of it. I’m not sure I want to mix politics and family, but I suppose it depends on a great many things.”

  “That’s one benefit of a nonhereditary monarchy,” Breha said, a smile in her eyes. “Your children aren’t bound to politics the way mine are.”

  They paused for a moment in front of a landscape painting. It was Appenza Peak, but the colors were bleak and dangerous, and the lake was dark and cold-looking beneath it.

  “Come,” said Breha. “If you liked the water sculpture, you should see and hear the air work the artist has done.”

  Padmé let the Queen of Alderaan take her arm again. She followed Breha’s easy pace and was led out onto a new terrace, though this one was much more sheltered than the one where they’d breakfasted. The reason was immediately apparent as soft sounds reached Padmé’s ear. Before she realized the full scope of the air sculpture, she could hear its gentle music, soaring under the bright new morning of clear blue skies and unceasing Alderaanian winds.

  “Naboo and Alderaan have a great deal in common,” Padmé said. “We both place high value on arts and good government.”

  “And we’re both pacifists,” Breha said. “Though I have heard that Na
boo is installing defensive weaponry.”

  “An ion pulse,” Padmé said. There had never been any attempt to keep it a secret. “The Trade Federation has a long memory and a seemingly infinite number of droids.”

  “I suppose it is easy to stand here, on a world that hasn’t seen conflict in generations, and judge you,” Breha said. “And yet I will not.”

  “Naboo did not make this decision lightly,” Padmé said. “I lost one of my dearest advisors because he wanted firmer measures and I would not allow them, and my parents are still furious that we’re doing anything at all. But we had to do something.”

  “I don’t know what we would do,” Breha said. “But I must confess: I have begun to think about it.”

  Padmé didn’t ask for details. There were some things each planet—each planet’s ruler—had to tackle on its own.

  “My only advice is to prioritize that which your planet holds the most dear,” Padmé said. “For Naboo, that was art and our own lives, so we reached a compromise.” She remembered Quarsh Panaka and added: “Just don’t get so fixated that you forget to be flexible.”

  “Alderaan is old, and bound by a great many traditions,” Breha said. “But we can change if we have to.”

  Padmé didn’t answer, and the two of them stood silent, listening to the wind.

  The week on Alderaan was almost a true holiday. There was no danger to speak of and no set schedule, though both of the senators had to block off time to go over their correspondence, and the queen had to maintain the smooth operation of her government. Outside of those times, however, a feeling of almost indulgent idleness overwhelmed Sabé, and she wasn’t entirely sure she liked it. Hers had been a busy life since she’d passed the first of Captain Panaka’s tests all those years ago, and for the past year, her mind had been almost constantly at work. To stop all of that now was, to say the least, unsettling. At one point, during an evening concert in one of Aldera’s many music halls, she linked fingers with Tonra for a whole minute before he looked at her and she remembered they were in public. Sabé was not a particularly reserved creature by nature, but she had cultivated a certain persona, and breaking out of it was very strange.