“Did you know, Your Highness, that there are over three thousand Jafani citizens on Naboo right now, present company excluded?” Padmé did know this, but understood why Harli would say it out loud. “Furthermore, almost all of those people are artists. We are bleeding culture, my friends, and it’s all ending up here.”
Harli went on, giving the specifics about the demographics and disciplines of the artists who were leaving the planet. The problem was not that Jafan had no interest in its own culture, but rather that Naboo had similar interests, as well as more potential consumers. It was, put simply, more lucrative to be a Jafani artist on Naboo than it was to stay at home.
“Please correct me if I am wrong,” Amidala said when Harli had taken her seat again. “But it sounds like this is a matter of accessibility and trade. If we can make it easier for people and works of art to move between planets, would that help?”
“It would be a start,” Harli said. “Unfortunately, most forms of Jafani art aren’t exactly portable.”
Padmé remembered something about chalk scrapings on hillsides and vast rock structures that could be seen from low orbit. Landowners could commission the work, and then the Jafani artists would incorporate the landscape to make dramatic statement pieces.
“Of course,” she said. “My apologies. Perhaps some sort of exchange program?”
“You did say we couldn’t fix everything today,” Harli said. “And I don’t expect you to. In addition to the practicalities of it, there’s a fair amount of prejudice between our planets, and all the cultural exchanges in the quadrant aren’t going to make that any easier for some people to swallow.”
“Do you think if we became regular trading partners for, say, grain and what have you, our people would get used to the idea of working together?” Bibble asked.
Padmé did her best not to wince. For a career politician, Bibble could be remarkably unsubtle sometimes. It was a large part of his charm and a reason so many people trusted him, but it still caught her off guard every now and then.
“Well played, Governor,” Harli said, a smile on her face. “I suppose I walked straight into that one. It’s possible. I am not sure how easy it would be to convince the director to part with food, though. It’s been three hundred years, but we still keep very close stock of our supplies.”
The floor passed to the next delegate, and talks continued. Nitsa Tulin passed on her turn to speak, and Olan Carrus said he had nothing to add. His planet’s population was quite small, he admitted, and he had mostly come so that his government would have an accurate report about what had happened at the summit. Padmé accepted that with aplomb, and then it was Tobruna’s turn to speak.
“Kreeling’s problems are of a slightly more serious nature, I’m afraid,” he began. “While we understand that the sector is famous for creation above all other things, it is we who are charged with the production of a key raw material. An outdated treaty requires us to sell to Naboo and the other planets in the sector first at a fixed price, which means they always get the highest-quality ores at below-market prices. By the time our merchants are able to go out into the galaxy, they only have inferior material left.”
They all had to be very careful with their answers to this one. It was one thing to promise support for a community of artists and another entirely to speak quickly of a planet’s primary economic means, even at this early stage when no one was making any official promises.
“I know why you hesitate, Your Highness,” Tobruna said. “We watched the election coverage, and we know that you pride yourself on your compassion. I know that you would like to offer the easy solution immediately, and I will not press you for any trade proposals today, or even tomorrow.”
“We appreciate your understanding, and your generous read of our character,” she said. “You are correct. We thank you for the time to consider our response.”
Tobruna bowed and took his seat. This gave Padmé a few more moments to think about what she was going to say.
“Is Naboo your primary market?” she asked. “And do we require all of your high-quality ore?”
“You are,” Tobruna said.
“We use the ore for shipbuilding,” Bibble said, consulting his notes. “Most of it, anyway. The rest goes to musical instrument manufacture.”
“Does that require high quality?” Amidala asked.
No one knew, and so Padmé risked a look at Sabé. They made eye contact, and Sabé minutely shook her head.
“One of my companions is an accomplished hallikset player,” Amidala said. “Sabé, can you tell us?”
“Your Highness.” Sabé bent slightly at the knee. It was the first time Padmé had ever called on a handmaiden for advice when they were in company. “From my experience, the high-quality ore is not necessary. The glint of the ore is fashionable, but not required.”
Yané coughed quietly and adjusted her hood over her face before returning her hand to her side. Padmé remembered that within days of her handmaidens appearing in court with their heads covered, the particular handmaiden style had become a planetwide trend.
“That might not actually be so hard to change,” Amidala said. “Especially if we convince up-and-coming musicians that a less glinty instrument is favored by the palace.”
Tobruna grinned.
“I would not have thought of that,” he said. “I look forward to seeing your solutions to the pricing issues, if they will be similarly creative.”
“It is only a very preliminary stance, of course,” Amidala said. “But we must all start from somewhere.”
Governor Kelma had the last spot this morning.
“I know Naboo is facing its own labor shortage,” she began, “but Karlinus is in similar straits. We have plenty of people coming in to do the regular, year-round work, but it’s the seasonal jobs that are suffering. They pay just as well, but it’s hard to convince someone to move all the way out here if you can’t promise them regular work.
“The people we want to hire from Naboo are ones you wouldn’t miss, Your Highness,” Kelma continued. “They’re the young students right out of school who haven’t decided which apprenticeship they want to take or what craft they want to dedicate themselves to. And we could use them. They’d be well paid, and when they returned, they’d be able to set themselves up pretty much any way they wanted to.”
“My mother did that on Karlinus,” Padmé mused. It had actually been Sola, her sister, but there were few enough students who made the trip now that if she’d specified a young person, someone might figure out who she was. “She always speaks highly of it. I know it was a good tradition, and I hope we can resurrect it.”
“If you can,” Kelma said, “then we can talk about grain.”
Padmé nodded, and Bibble took that as his cue to end proceedings for the day. As she suspected, they had solved almost nothing, but at least they were all talking, which was the start she had hoped for.
“It was amazing to watch, Senator.” Panaka hadn’t been expecting Palpatine’s call, but when the senator surprised him early in the evening on the first day of the summit, he was more than happy to take the call. “To watch her talk with the others and really listen. And make progress! Even if it was only the very beginning of mending the fences. Her handmaidens even offered advice.”
“What an amazing accomplishment,” Palpatine said. “I hope she didn’t get too dramatic and promise them voting rights in the next election.”
Panaka laughed.
“You know, I get the feeling she respects their sovereignty too much to do that,” he said. “That’s what made her so effective, I think. She wasn’t the Queen today. She was simply their host.”
“A united Chommell sector would be a force to be reckoned with,” Palpatine mused. “There are several things I would like to do myself, but I find my hands are full representing the sector away from home.”
“If the Queen has her way, you won’t have to wait very long,” Panaka said. He realized that he had been
talking about the summit for quite some time, and that Palpatine was a busy person. “I’m sorry, Senator. Was there a reason you called?”
“No, not really,” Palpatine said. “Just taking a moment to check in with an old friend. I am glad I contacted you, though. Such unexpected and thrilling news from home.”
Panaka yawned, not quite able to hide it behind his glove. He’d called up extra guards, but he had still been awake for most of the time since the delegates had arrived.
“I won’t keep you from your rest, Captain,” Palpatine said. “I’m glad everything is going well.”
“Thank you, Senator,” Panaka said, and Palpatine ended the call.
Darth Sidious considered his options. The events in the Chommell sector were completely unexpected. He hadn’t thought that Queen Amidala could muster that sort of achievement in the short time since her election. It would be the last time he underestimated her. Even if she succeeded in uniting the system, he could still play it to his advantage. Ore traders and silpath hunters were no more a match for the dark side than Amidala was herself. He would have to move his timeline along, though. No more dallying on the Senate floor waiting for bills to pass. He would move the pieces directly, and if it cost him a few pawns in the process, well, he had plenty more where those came from. It was time for the Trade Federation to cease their training maneuvers, move their invasion force out of the wilds of Geonosis, and go to work.
Sabé did not return to the suite with the Queen when she left the throne room on the second day of the summit. There was no formal dinner that night, so no one needed to prepare for anything. Padmé was looking forward to a quiet evening in her sitting room, discussing everyone’s impressions of the day’s talks. Sabé’s absence didn’t prevent her from dressing in more comfortable handmaiden-style robes and settling in with her tea, but Padmé found quickly that she missed her company. The others tried to distract her.
It was almost half an hour before Sabé let herself in. She was a bit breathless, like she’d walked quickly to come back to the room. Or maybe for another reason, but that was none of Padmé’s business.
“Did you get lost in the corridors?” Rabé asked sweetly.
“Shut up,” Sabé said. She looked to Padmé for support, but Padmé refused to meet her gaze.
“It’s very good of you to pay so much attention to relations,” Eirtaé said. Yané blushed and Saché looked uncomfortable. She’d been fighting a stomachache all day and wasn’t in the mood for high spirits.
“You want to be nice to me,” Sabé said. “I have an opportunity for us.”
That got everyone’s attention.
“Neurotransmitter Affection are playing in the Theed Odeon tonight,” Sabé said. “One of Harli’s cousins sings backup with them, so she can get us in.”
Eirtaé made an unintelligible noise of excitement and Yané clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Harli Jafan invited us to a concert?” Padmé asked.
“Well, sort of,” Sabé said. “She invited me. Unofficially. But she said that the rest of us could come, too. I imagine she meant the handmaidens, not the Queen, but there’s no reason why a palace page can’t tag along.”
6 “Out of the question,” Padmé said. “There’s no way we’d even make it out the door, much less out of the palace.”
“Don’t be so quick to say that,” Rabé said. “We haven’t even started scheming yet. I am sure we can come up with something.”
“What if there’s an emergency?” Padmé said.
“Then we’ll deal with it,” Sabé told her. “Unless you don’t want to go. It would be much easier to plan without you.”
That lit a fire under Padmé’s heart.
“I am definitely coming with you if you go,” she said.
“I’ll stay here, if that makes a difference,” Saché said. “I don’t feel very well anyway, and I’ve never been a fan of loud noises and crowds.”
“We’ll bring you back a souvenir,” Sabé promised grandly. “Now, suggestions?”
Padmé listened to them plot, feeling strangely disconnected. Yes, Neurotransmitter Affection were shatteringly popular, but there was no reason to be so reckless as to go and see them. Unless Sabé really did like Harli. If so, Sabé would have to keep secrets from both, and surely that wouldn’t be any fun. Unless she ended up liking Harli more. Padmé refused to go down that road. There was no reason to be jealous or doubt Sabé’s loyalty. They were just going to a concert, like normal girls. One night. They could make that work.
Rabé shot down four suggestions before they hit on something she thought was feasible. Sabé, Yané, and Eirtaé would go to the concert with Harli, leaving in full view of the guards from the front of the palace. They wouldn’t wear handmaiden robes, but they would be dressed as nondescriptly as possible. Meanwhile, Rabé and Padmé would go to the Queen’s library, ostensibly to do research at Amidala’s request. The guards wouldn’t bother them, and Rabé would belay Padmé down the wall before climbing down herself.
“How will we get back in?” Padmé asked. There was no point in a one-way trip.
“I’ll climb the wall and pull you up,” Rabé said.
“It’s five stories!” Yané protested.
“Do you have a better idea?” Rabé said.
Yané went over to one of the drawers on the side of the room and rummaged through it for a few minutes.
“Captain Panaka was annoyed that you wouldn’t let him station guards in here, so he took steps,” she said. She held up a grappling cable triumphantly. “See? Much easier than climbing.”
“He’s going to kill us,” Padmé predicted. “But I’m not going to let that stop me.”
They got dressed. It was fun to do more than one hairstyle, and Padmé was glad not to have the usual tight braids under a wig. Eirtaé took the time to curl her hair, since she only rarely got to show it off. Rabé and Padmé put on robes over their outfits, Rabé concealing the grappling cable under her skirt. They each took a few credits from Padmé’s petty cash, in case of emergency, and folded them into various pockets—in Sabé’s case, her boots.
Before they left, they made sure Saché was as comfortable as possible. She was curled up alone in Padmé’s bed, feeling desolate and also too wretched to move.
“If your stomach still hurts in the morning, we’ll call a med-droid,” Yané said, brushing her hair off her face. Saché didn’t flinch away from her, which was new. “It can’t be food poisoning. You’re not throwing up, and we all ate the same things.”
“You should get going,” Saché said. “I know Neurotransmitter Affection always have an amazing opening light show.”
The three obvious concert attendees headed out. Padmé could hear them laughing with the guards in the hallway—this was the first time since their arrival at the palace that the handmaidens had worn nonmatching outfits, and it might be the first time anyone was able to immediately tell them apart. Rabé made them wait fifteen minutes, and then she and “Saché” headed for the library.
“How come they get to go to a concert and you two get stuck here reading up on ore processing?” one of the guards asked when Rabé explained where they were headed.
“Oh, we stayed home on purpose,” Rabé said. “Neither of us really cares for crowds. A quiet night reading is much more our style.”
The guard shook her head, but let them pass with no further questioning. Padmé kept her head down and hoped no one noticed that she was a solid five centimeters taller than Saché was.
Once they were in the library, Rabé stripped off her handmaiden robes and folded them roughly. Padmé followed a bit more slowly, also placing her robes on a chair in the corner of the room. Rabé opened the window and fired the cable up into the lintel.
“That will hold us both,” she said. “You’ll have to step on the ledge and put your arms around me, and then I’ll lower us down.”
“I thought you made and sold forgeries,” Padmé said. “How do you know how to do all
this?”
“Well, you can’t forge something if you haven’t seen it,” Rabé said.
Padmé hadn’t thought of it that way. She stepped up onto the ledge beside the ex-art thief and put her arms around her waist.
“Step with me on three,” Rabé said. “One, two, three!”
Padmé leaned into her and took that first step into thin air. For a second, she was falling, and then the cable caught them. Rabé lowered them to the ground and pushed the retraction button. The cable detached and disappeared, and then Rabé stashed the grappler under a convenient shrub. She led the way through the gardens, whispering directions about how to make sure they stayed in the security system’s blind spots. A quick scramble got her to the top of the garden wall, and she hauled Padmé up behind her.
“This is the hard part,” Rabé admitted. “When you fall into the dry moat, make sure you bend your knees on the landing. And for the love of jogan fruit, don’t bite your tongue.”
Rabé slid to the edge of the wall and let herself down. Even hanging from her fingertips, she was a considerable distance from the ground. She rolled on the landing and came up quickly, brushing loose grass from her hands. Padmé did her best to duplicate the move, without the roll, and managed to knock the wind out of her chest when she landed. She sat gasping for a few moments, and then Rabé pulled her to her feet.
“Please teach me how to do that your way,” she said when she had enough breath to speak.
“I’ll put it on the list,” Rabé said, grinning. “You did pretty well, though.”
“Thanks,” said Padmé.
The two girls hurried off. They were supposed to meet the others at the VIP entrance to the Odeon, and they didn’t want to keep them waiting. It wasn’t a long distance to cover, and there was a crowd to blend in with as soon as they reached the main thoroughfare. Padmé smiled in spite of her aching chest. She hadn’t been around this many people in so long, and she had missed it.
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