If that had been everything that happened, Eirtama would have called it a win. Sopranos were mostly insufferable. But she knew it was going to be worse. The sensors under the lift detected the fallen soprano, and the emergency override killed the repulsors, initiating the only safety protocol Eirtama’s budget had allowed.
“Look out!” she shouted, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. It wasn’t like ducking would help.
With a clash of metal and several more screams, the pod jerked backward into the rear wall of the theater, the only place guaranteed to be empty. The other four sopranos were indecorously dumped. Stagehands, most of whom considered themselves actors and were therefore wildly indifferent to the role, were quick to rush out to the fallen singers, but once they were there, none of them knew what to do.
A man with dark skin and a strong set to his shoulders pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He cupped his hands around his mouth, in too much of a hurry to identify the acoustic spots on the stage.
“Everyone remain calm!” he called out. “I am a trained professional, and I have already called for more help. Please exit the auditorium in an orderly fashion. If you are related to one of those injured, please come forward and make yourself known to the medics when they arrive.”
Everyone did exactly what he said. Except Eirtama, who pressed forward despite not being anyone’s relative.
“What are you doing?” He caught her by her collar as she tried to sneak past. Her blond hair spilled around his fingers, and she tried to wiggle free.
“I built it,” she said. “I built it, and I was very clear that only four people should stand on it, and I will not let anyone say this was my fault.”
He let her go, and she pulled her tunic back into place.
“Um, are they okay?” she asked. Most people would expect her to be friends with the people she’d spent a week workshopping a famous-if-slightly-problematic opera with.
“They’re going to be fine,” he said. “Maybe a sprained ankle or two at most, but no one broke anything.”
“Except my hoverpod,” Eirtama grumbled, then thought better of it. “I mean, I guess that’s good.”
“There’s no shame in being upset when your craftsmanship is ruined because your advice has been ignored,” he told her. “I think you’re handling it pretty well.”
The medics arrived, and Eirtama let herself drift out of the auditorium. She was now relatively sure no one would blame this catastrophe on her. She went back to the dormitory and read until she fell asleep.
The next morning, no one was entirely sure what to do. They were supposed to be striking the set, their grand performance done, but the set had literally struck itself. Instead, they milled around in one of the green areas outside the auditorium, waiting for instructions. No one waited with Eirtama. She didn’t mind.
“Eirtama Ballory,” a familiar voice called.
She looked up, and beside the director was the man from last night, the one who had called for help and kept everyone in the room from falling to pieces. The one who had believed her. Silence fell over the garden. Eirtama made her way forward. She was sure he had believed her. He had even told her she was handling it well. No one ever told her she was handling it well. She always overreacted.
“We met briefly last night,” he reminded her.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “The security officer.”
His face twitched ever so slightly.
“I was very impressed with the way you handled everything, but I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself,” he continued. The last bit of her worry evaporated. “My name is Quarsh Panaka.”
The governor of Karlinus was the first arrival. Amidala met her at the landing pad as a sign of welcome and respect. Governor Bibble stood beside her, as he had met his counterpart before. She had only recently been elected, and Padmé hoped that she wasn’t as soured to Naboo’s recent policy as the rest of her government appeared to be. At one time, movement of people between Naboo and Karlinus had been quite common: Karlinus was a good place for artists to make money working the silk and tea harvests, and Naboo was a good place to set up a studio once an artist had acquired a bit of a nest egg.
“Governor Kelma,” Amidala said as soon as she reached the bottom of the ramp. “Welcome to Naboo. We are pleased you were able to come.”
Kelma extended her hand, and Amidala took it immediately. She could imagine the expression on Panaka’s face, but she had told him that she was going to do what she could to make her guests feel welcome, and if that included handshakes, then that’s what she would do.
“It was a surprising invitation,” Kelma said. Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement and her warm brown skin shone in the Naboo sunlight. “I was more than a little curious.”
“I hope we can satisfy that curiosity,” Bibble said magnanimously. He offered her his arm and chatted with her as they went back to the palace.
Kelma’s eyes were everywhere as they walked, taking in every detail. She hadn’t been to Naboo before, which was not an uncommon trait in their invitees, and she seemed determined to make the most of it. She wore a simple outfit for traveling: loose trousers under a tunic, all in matching linen. It was simple and elegant, and infinitely more comfortable than the dress Padmé was wearing. She was a bit jealous. She was also jealous that the governor didn’t wear a wig. Her hair was thick and frizzy, which only made her round face seem more likable.
Karlinus was the only planet whose delegation Padmé met at the landing area. She had worried it would be viewed as a snub, but Bibble assured her that the other parties would understand that she couldn’t run back and forth to the platforms all day. And in any case, several of them had been slightly rude in their responses, which meant that Padmé was allowed to be a bit distant until they warmed up to her in person.
The Chommell sector had more than thirty planets and several thousand settled dependencies. Padmé had invited all of the primary governments, but most of them had declined the invitation. A few had elected to attend via holoprojection, and a few more had agreed to come in person. Padmé had hoped for a better showing, but Bibble seemed pleased with the turnout.
“These planets represent our allies and our detractors,” he’d pointed out once they had the final list. “Having them all in one room with us is a good first step.”
Jafan and Kreeling arrived together. The two planets weren’t in the same system, so Padmé could only view their arrival as a sort of statement. Unlike Kelma, who had come in person along with three aides, the planetary directors had sent ambassadors they thought were a match for Padmé herself. Specifically, their own children. Padmé was not insulted in the least, although she was reasonably sure that was the intention. Dealing with adults could be very tiresome.
“My name is Harli Jafan,” a tall, hairless humanoid girl with light blue skin and delicately webbed fingers introduced herself. “My father is the planetary director.”
“And I’m Tobruna.” This was from a short human boy with red hair and brown eyes. “My mother is in charge of the Kreeling refineries, which more or less puts her in charge of the planet.”
Padmé knew all of that already, but they had to start somewhere. Jafan was a relatively new colony. They’d arrived in the sector some three hundred years ago, and they were still ruled by the family who established the colony. Kreeling was a mining world. There was better money in shipping refined ore, so there were also a lot of refineries there. Rumors circulated that the methods used to maintain order at those refineries were less than democratic, but Padmé couldn’t afford to let prejudice color her perception of the delegates.
“Welcome to Naboo,” she said.
Padmé repeated the welcome again an hour later for the representative from Behpour, an elderly gentleman with black skin and mischievous brown eyes who seemed to be very good friends with Bibble, and then again one last time for the representative from Chommell Minor, a woman the same age as Padmé’s mother who seemed d
eeply uninterested in the summit she had traveled across the sector for.
As the afternoon progressed, Padmé had welcomed half a dozen other delegates, bringing the total number to twelve, including herself. Mariek Panaka, as the highest-ranking guard in the diplomatic wing, was in charge of delegate security. The palace staff had been thoroughly briefed on the requirements of the nonhuman delegates. There was something in the Kreelingi atmosphere that had a permanent effect on human vision, Padmé suddenly recalled. She was sure her staff had it covered and would have made the appropriate arrangements, but she also knew she’d have to confirm it for herself, or it was going to bug her.
Padmé wanted to slouch when the final representative left to go to their assigned quarters in the diplomatic wing, but instead she maintained her dignity and let herself be borne off to prepare for the state dinner.
“You did ask for this,” Panaka said.
“I am aware,” Padmé replied.
He didn’t push it.
The handmaidens had two hours to prepare for the state dinner, and Rabé fully intended to use all of that time. First, they all scrubbed down in the royal baths. Usually they took their time in there—it was one of the few places they never had to worry about politics—but tonight they were on a mission.
Yané had laid out shifts for all of them to put on when they were dry, and when they got to the dressing room, she passed out jade-green robes for everyone but Padmé. The Queen was directed to sit and not move until given permission, and Padmé complied with a laugh.
“That means your face, too,” Rabé said, hovering close with foundation and a brush. “I’m not making a mistake because you’re giggling.”
Padmé laughed harder, but schooled her expression when Rabé started to look exasperated. She closed her eyes and let the wardrobe mistress do her work.
Yané was braiding everyone else’s hair so that they could pin it under their hoods. By the time she was done, Rabé was finished with the Queen’s face except for the red marks, and so she went to get dressed while Yané stepped in. She braided Padmé’s hair tightly and pinned it all down on top of her head. Then she covered the pins with a layer of gel that would stop them—and the wig—from itching. She fit the headpiece on carefully, checking frequently to make sure everything was aligned properly before giving it one final light shove down to attach it firmly to the gel. It was a traditional look tonight: a wide arch of hair that matched Amidala’s natural color and several long tresses down her back.
Eirtaé and Saché had finished laying out the dress. It was one of Eirtaé’s designs, and could be stepped into. This made everything about hair and makeup easier, and Eirtaé had grumbled for a week that it was ridiculous that it had taken this long for that to be normal. The dress was a deep pink in a less stiff style than Amidala’s court gowns. There were actual flounces involved, which made moving around a lot more fun than usual, and the neckline was less conservative than her usual outfits.
Padmé stepped into the dress and stood patiently while they fastened it to her. Eirtaé went around behind her and activated the inner layers of the dress so they would seal around her body. Padmé had learned very early not to breathe out as that was happening.
“Cheater,” Eirtaé said with some fondness as she tightened the last few ties and then pressed the seam on the back closed, rendering it effectively invisible.
Sabé had been working on everyone else’s makeup. It was another trick Rabé had devised. When they made up Amidala, they also made up the handmaidens to look as much alike as possible. It was only feasible when there were hoods involved, otherwise Eirtaé was an obvious outlier, but aside from that it worked quite well. Padmé had walked past Panaka three times as a page before he’d identified her.
After several minutes of small adjustments, Rabé and Yané pronounced everyone ready, and they set out for the dining room. The handmaidens would be at the table tonight, interspersed with various government officials. It was a deliberate show of trust on Padmé’s part. She was giving her guests the opportunity to figure out something that was very important to her. The only questions were who would make the intuitive leap, and what they would do with the information. If she was being completely honest, Padmé couldn’t wait to find out.
Queen Amidala’s first state dinner after being elected to her throne went, by all accounts, quite well. She had given thoughtful consideration to the menu, making sure to highlight Naboo delicacies without overwhelming her guests with fish. Though it was a staple protein on Naboo, the other planets in the sector did not support much aquatic life, and she knew the texture could be off-putting. The seating arrangement had been adjusted at the last minute to put Bibble next to Olan Carrus of Behpour when their friendship became apparent. Even though that put Carrus near the foot of the table, he seemed to appreciate the gesture. Padmé sat at the head of the table with Governor Kelma on one side of her and Nitsa Tulin, the representative from Chommell Minor, on the other.
The other delegates were interspersed with the handmaidens apparently at random, but it was no accident that Saché was seated with a clear view of Tobruna’s and Tulin’s faces. Padmé trusted her observations a great deal. Sabé was next to Harli, who turned out to be much more gregarious than any of them had anticipated. As the meal progressed, it was Harli who kept the conversation going, moving seamlessly from topic to topic. It was wonderful to watch, and it took a tremendous weight off of Padmé’s shoulders, because she wasn’t sure if Amidala was going to be a good dinner host.
“—and then the whole herd turned, and it was just my idiot cousins and me in their path,” Harli said, winding down a story about the annual silpath migration on Jafan.
“What did you do?” Sabé asked, fascinated.
“Well, there was a tree,” Harli said. “And I shoved my cousins up into it as fast as I could before I climbed up, too. It wasn’t much of a tree. I swear, some of the silpath had antlers that were taller, but at least we weren’t on the ground with their hooves.”
Carrus asked a question about herd numbers and how that affected the Jafani diet, which nicely distracted everyone until they moved out onto the balcony while dessert was served, to mill around and view the waterlight display Padmé had commissioned.
Over that last course of the night, while Bibble held forth about various escapades he’d experienced on all of their planets, Padmé was not so distracted that she didn’t notice Harli flirt shamelessly with Sabé. What surprised her was the degree to which Sabé flirted back. Nothing inappropriate, of course, and it was possible the adults thought they were just quietly getting to know each other while the grown-ups talked about something they thought was boring, but Padmé could see the truth. She didn’t know if Sabé was pressing an advantage or if there was a genuine attraction, and she didn’t know how in the world she was going to find out, not without pulling rank. Her relationships with her handmaidens were progressing so well. She hadn’t seen this coming.
As the dishes were being cleared away, Sabé caught her eye. She gave nothing away, her face orchestra-blank, and Padmé repaid the favor by not putting into her eyes a question she wasn’t sure she should ask. Then Harli said something and Sabé leaned closer to hear it, and the moment was over. Tobruna drew Padmé into a discussion about grav-ball with a very enthusiastic Eirtaé.
Finally it was time to bid everyone good night. They would meet in the late morning the following day to begin the actual discussions, and Padmé was very much looking forward to it.
“Well,” said Sabé once everything was put away and they were all tucked into their beds. “This is going to be more interesting than I thought.”
“I know we won’t be able to the change the minds of everyone in the sector after a single set of meetings,” Amidala said at the conclusion of her welcoming remarks. The soft light of the throne room sparkled on the blue and green sequins of her dress, but that and the jewels on her headpiece were her only ornamentation. “Still, I hope that we can find a pla
ce to start.”
As Governor Kelma rose to give a response on behalf of the invited guests, Saché took in the throne room. Even though Naboo was technically the chief planet in the sector and the only one to elect a queen, today Amidala was sitting on a chair that matched everyone else’s, and the gesture had not gone unnoticed. Nitsa Tulin still looked bored and was only barely paying attention, but both Harli and Tobruna were visibly pleased to see Amidala sitting at their level. The only person who was upset was Captain Panaka. There were, in actual fact, two blasters currently hidden in the armrest of the Naboo throne. Meanwhile, the throne itself was sitting in an anteroom, waiting for Padmé to require it again.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” Amidala had said when he’d confronted her about it. “I didn’t do it on purpose, I promise you. There were so many other things to organize, and the chairs seemed like such a good idea. I forgot about the blasters completely.”
Panaka glared at Eirtaé, who had definitely remembered.
“Please don’t do it again” was all he said.
“I will not,” the Queen promised.
The first day’s schedule had been decided long before the delegates arrived, and it was the simplest. They met midmorning to allow the two representatives with hyper-lag some time to catch up, and after the welcoming remarks, each person would have a few minutes to address problems specific to their own homeworlds. Governor Bibble did not expect any surprises, but none of the handmaidens—who watched from their places standing behind the ring of seats—were quite as blasé. Harli had the floor to start off with.
“Your Highness, honored delegates, observers”—this last was directed straight to Sabé, who turned ever so slightly pink and bent her head forward so that her orange hood covered more of her face—“Jafan has been on its own for nearly three centuries now. We know that we are not as well established as Naboo, but there is no doubt that we have our own culture and our own traditions.
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