Queen's Peril

by E. K. Johnston

  The droid put its metal hand on Saché’s neck. She knew exactly how a contest between plasteel and human vertebrae would end, so she didn’t struggle. She imagined what it would be like to be truly afraid, and squeezed tears out of her eyes to sell the bit. Mariek appeared out of nowhere behind the visitors, Tonra beside her, but there was nothing either of them could do.

  “I will tell my queen anything you like,” Bibble said. His eyes cut back and forth between Gunray and Saché, and she knew his words were for her. “I can guarantee that she won’t sign the treaty.”

  “Tell the Queen that the death toll is catastrophic,” Saché said. She pitched her voice even higher than normal. There was a good chance the Neimoidians thought she was younger than she was, and fooling them into thinking she was terrified wasn’t that hard. She managed another few tears before the droid released her. She fell to her knees and thought that even Rabé would have been impressed with the performance.

  “There, Governor, you see?” Gunray said. “Do you think Amidala is so coldhearted that she will ignore that? Your people haven’t even really started dying yet, and this poor child is already terrified. Come, we will finish our tour of this facility, and then you will send a message to your queen.”

  They walked off, their droid escort clanking loudly on the stone. As soon as they were around the corner, Saché picked herself up and dusted off her knees. Her robes were starting to smell, and there was no reason to make it any worse. Tonra stared at her with considerable admiration.

  “I told you they were good,” Mariek said. “Come inside, both of you.”

  Yané was waiting for them right inside the tent, and she threw her arms around Saché’s shoulders.

  “Oh, I know there wasn’t really anything to be afraid of,” she said. “But I was so worried.”

  “I’m fine,” Saché told her. “Bibble is going to send a message to the Queen. That means they survived!”

  “What exactly is the Queen going to hear in this message?” Mariek asked, clearly having read between the lines of the conversation even if no one else had. “I don’t think we’ve reached catastrophic levels quite yet.”

  “Toll is one of our alert words,” Saché said. “Eirtaé ran some sort of equation and determined that it doesn’t come up in conversation very often, so when she hears it, Amidala will know that the message is from me or Yané. She’ll know we’re alive and that we’re doing what we can, and she’ll know to stick to her mission.”

  “I don’t think Eirtaé expected us to use it under these circumstances,” Yané added. “But Captain Panaka wanted us to be prepared, and so we . . . prepared.”

  “When they write the official history of this era, I hope they give you some of the credit,” Mariek said.

  “We’re meant to be anonymous,” Yané said. “That was the whole point.”

  They went to the back of the tent and hauled the mattress off of the cot. Yané explained how she had woven the information into her work. Since both Mariek and Tonra had learned the old comm code as children, they saw the pattern immediately. The finished work outlined not only the guard rotation, but also the location of each place where a fountain had been, any entrances to the sewer system, and every power generator that they’d been able to locate.

  “We should distribute this to the other tents,” Mariek said. “The Queen will come back eventually, and she’ll need us. We should be ready to break out if we can, or at the very least, help if we’re rescued.”

  “If I had more material, I could weave a small bit of cloth with the guard rotation on it,” Yané said. “That would be enough, don’t you think?”

  “And I could distribute them while she’s working,” Saché said. “The Neimoidians already think I’m a terrified child, and the droids never look at me twice.”

  They spent another half an hour working on the details of what Yané should put into the fabric. It was decided that any actual escape plan would be need to know. They were mostly soldiers, after all, and soldiers could follow orders. The fabric would contain only the guard rotation, and Saché would give verbal instructions to memorize the information and then destroy the cloth.

  “I’m glad you two are with us,” Mariek said when they were done planning and Tonra had gone out to see if he could find any spare fabric.

  Saché understood the sentiment, but she could still feel cold metal fingers on her neck, and couldn’t bring herself to agree.

  “It’s a trick,” said the young Jedi. “Send no reply.”

  He swept from the room, his brown robe trailing behind him dramatically, and the door hissed shut behind him.

  “Well, of course it’s a trick,” Rabé said explosively. “Does he think we’re idiots?”

  “He thinks we’re hiding things from him,” Eirtaé said. “And he’s correct.”

  Sabé’s face was starting to itch under the makeup. This was the longest she’d ever worn it. At the palace, they used the blend Yané had mixed up, but the stuff that had been stored on the royal ship was a generic brand, and Sabé didn’t like it as much. It was a ridiculous thing to be concerned about, she knew, but it was also her face, and so she couldn’t help it. Being the Queen was starting to get to her.

  Also, the starship might have a royal classification, but it had a military-style head, and that made going to the bathroom a logistical nightmare.

  She just wanted to go outside and feel fresh air, even if it was sandy and hot. Panaka had forbidden it, and then there had been a sandstorm, anyway; even Sabé wasn’t that desperate. She did not enjoy being the person everyone looked to. Even though Rabé and Eirtaé knew who she was, they still had to treat her like the Queen whenever anyone was around, and the distance was off-putting.

  This is what it was like for Padmé all the time, Sabé realized. No matter how close to her the other handmaidens got, as soon as the face went on, the walls went up, and Padmé had to trust that when the walls came down again, everyone would still like her. That was why Harli’s interest in Sabé had upset Padmé so much. This distance that Sabé couldn’t shake any more than she could get her face to stop itching.

  “Do you think we should have told him what the message really says?” Sabé asked.

  “No,” Eirtaé said. “I’m not entirely sure he’d believe you, and in any case, it’s none of his business. He’s here to negotiate—his master was very clear on that. He can’t intercede.”

  They sat in the silence of their own thoughts for a moment, each conjuring up different fears about what was happening on the planet they had left behind. They knew they had been intended for processing, and that probably meant some sort of relocation camp. The speed at which the camps had been set up meant they weren’t likely to be very comfortable, and droids weren’t exactly known for their consideration of human frailties. At least the weather was warm.

  “I’m glad they’re okay,” Eirtaé said. “When I heard the word, I almost laughed, I was so relieved.”

  “I know what you mean,” Sabé said.

  “And if Saché knew Bibble was sending the message, then that means they know we’re all right, too,” Rabé said. “Comparatively speaking anyway.”

  “Panaka said we should have the part by the end of the day tomorrow, or we’re never going to get it,” Sabé told them. “Master Qui-Gon is going to some sort of cultural event tomorrow morning. He was vague on the details, but he seemed to think he’d be able to take care of everything.”

  “The Jedi are fine, but I like it better when we’re manipulating people,” Rabé said.

  “Agreed,” Sabé said. “When Padmé gets back, we’ll see what we can do about that.”

  Even when Sabé wore the Queen’s face, it was still in her nature to look to Padmé for guidance. It was something she had missed since their argument after the concert, and something she longed to set right. The galaxy seemed to conspire against them in that regard, but Sabé was determined. If she couldn’t find the time, she would simply make it.


  Padmé was wide awake, and she felt terrible about it. Qui-Gon and Jar Jar, both self-professed early risers, had volunteered to sleep on the floor in the main room of Shmi Skywalker’s house. Shmi had taken her son into his small room and given up her bed for Padmé. It was the most hospitality that Shmi could offer, but the bed was so hard and the desert night so dry that Padmé couldn’t sleep.

  After an hour of trying not to toss and turn, she got up to get a glass of water. She stepped carefully around the snoring Gungan on the kitchen floor. By the time she had cleaned her cup and put it away, her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that she could see the outline of Master Qui-Gon, sleeping on his side in the doorway of the house, as though he would protect them from anything that tried to come in.

  On the other side of the kitchen, light leaked from under a closed door. Padmé heard soft sounds coming from the other side and wondered if Anakin had gotten up to tinker with something. He really ought to be in bed, so Padmé opened the door to check on him.

  “Do you need something?” It was Shmi Skywalker, not her son, bent over the table with the parts of several different devices spread out in front of her. She was working on some kind of screen.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Padmé said. “I thought Anakin might have gotten up because he was nervous.”

  Shmi laughed quietly.

  “No, my son sleeps like a rock the night before a race,” she admitted. “It’s me who stays up all night worrying about him. What’s keeping you awake?”

  Padmé hesitated. She had already embarrassed herself in front of her host when the topic of slavery had come up, but that was no excuse to stop being honest.

  “I am used to a different bed,” she said diplomatically. “It is taking me a while to settle.”

  “You are welcome to sit up with me, if you like,” Shmi said. “I’m just trying to fix this screen so I can use it at the race tomorrow.”

  “I’d like that,” Padmé said.

  They didn’t talk very much after that. Padmé watched as Shmi’s clever fingers reassembled the screen, each piece falling into place so easily that Shmi might have been doing magic. It was soothing in the way that watching an artist was, and Padmé realized that this was merely art of a different kind. Eventually, she felt calm enough to try sleeping again, and bid Shmi good night.

  As she pulled the blankets over her, Padmé’s mind spun. She’d always known the galaxy was a complicated place, but seeing it, smelling it, living it made her understand how foolish and privileged she had been. She had her own problems right now, and they were massive—much bigger than herself. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a planet that wasn’t even her own. And yet, her heart ached for this good woman and for her selfless son, and she knew that it always would.

  Senator Palpatine’s office in the Republic Senate building was fairly standard. He had a high window and a decent view of Coruscant. He could not see the Jedi Temple, for which he was quite grateful. He’d decorated the room with various works of art he’d picked up on his travels as a young man, each piece carefully curated despite the fact that the average museum docent might think them merely a collection of junk. The overall effect was professional and just intimidating enough that he rarely had to host meetings in his own space. He did not want to encourage visitors.

  While he waited for the royal entourage to show up, he didn’t have a great deal to do. The Senate was stalled on matters he didn’t care about, though he was scrupulous at showing up to vote, and he couldn’t make any more moves without the presence of the Queen. He was reduced to looking through his catalogue, flicking past entry after entry of artwork he had in storage because he lacked a place to put it.

  He froze the screen on a black statue. At first glance, it was barely carved at all and hardly worthy of attention. But if one knew the history of Yonta Prime, and he did, one knew that the deep black surface of the statue absorbed light better than almost any other substance in the galaxy. It was one of his favorite pieces. He had never had the space to keep it anywhere other than his storage facility.

  He mentally measured his office. No, it was impossible. The statue would make him look like a careless collector who didn’t care for order as long as the piece pleased him. He refused to give in to clutter.

  There was an office that would suit nicely, of course. It was a few floors up, and Palpatine had had his eye on it for a while.

  He made arrangements for the statue to be packed up and shipped to his residence on Coruscant. He could keep it there for a short while, and then he would have all the space he needed to put it on display.

  “I’m going to reach out to the Gungans,” Padmé said.

  Sabé was still wired from having watched her overthrow the government of the Galactic Republic that afternoon after calling for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum, so she wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard correctly.

  “You’re going to what?” she said, pulling a comb through Padmé’s hair as gently as she could.

  The handmaidens were packing the various outfits Padmé had required that day while Sabé put the Queen into her dark purple traveling dress and purple headpiece, and touched up her makeup. It had been a very busy day, and they would have to steal what sleep they could in hyperspace. Sabé was glad to be making this trip in plain robes.

  “I’m going to reach out to the Gungans,” Padmé repeated. “Jar Jar told me they have an army, right before Senator Palpatine came back. I’m going to ask them to help us.”

  Sabé considered it. They’d received word that the Jedi would be returning to Naboo with them, but there were only two of them, and Naboo’s own security forces were small. The Gungans did live on the planet, after all. The Trade Federation wouldn’t ignore them forever. It was possible they’d already been found. Panaka would be glad of more troops, particularly if they weren’t as inherently pacifist as the Naboo.

  “Do you think Panaka will be all right with you stepping foot on Naboo as the Queen?” Sabé asked. “It’s going to put you in danger, and we’ll have to abandon the ship when we land. We wouldn’t be able to switch.”

  “We’ll switch before we land,” said Padmé. “I was going to tell you what I wanted to say.”

  Sabé’s fingers clenched around the comb. She’d pretended to be the Queen for the first royal tour and the summit’s closing remarks, and for the journey here as part of Padmé’s safety, but meeting with the Gungans was a huge political step for all of Naboo.

  “You were wonderful on the tour and perfect during the summit,” Padmé said. “You were so perfect that you covered for my mistake when Harli caught me instead of going to her and explaining what happened. You’re always going to be in more danger, and it’s always going to be your job, but—I trust you. I trust you so much.”

  “But you’re the Queen,” Sabé said. “I didn’t really understand that until the sandstorm—how isolated that makes you and how you turn that into influence. I was just lonely, but you always find a way to make connections.”

  “You’re as qualified for this job as I am,” Padmé said. “If you wanted to run for the office after me, I think you’d be good at it.”

  “No,” Sabé said. “I wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t understand,” Padmé said. “There’s nothing I can do that you can’t.”

  “There’s one key difference between you and me,” Sabé told her. “You command, and I carry out.”

  Padmé didn’t reply, so Sabé kept going.

  “Do you know why Captain Panaka recruited me?” she asked, somewhat rhetorically. “It wasn’t for breathing exercises. We look quite similar, but there must be countless skinny brown-haired girls in the galaxy. He picked me because the thing I am best at, the only thing I have ever been best at, is being not the best.”

  “You’re not—” Padmé started.

  “No, I am.” Sabé cut her off. “I’m good at a lot of things. I work hard and I get results, but I am never the best. And I thou
ght I had accepted that, until Harli looked at me like I was special. And yes, hanging out with her was fun and I did want her to kiss me, but I learned something important that night.”

  “Not to sneak out of the palace?” Padmé asked.

  “Don’t be silly,” Sabé said. She came around in front of Padmé to check her hair. “That was the best part. What I learned was that I’d rather be second to you than first to anyone else.”

  Confessing her feelings was like a weight lifting off of Sabé’s chest. It had taken her so long to figure it out, to put to words what she knew in her heart. And now she had done it. She wanted to fly.

  “I can order you to your death,” Padmé said.

  Her voice was so quiet that Sabé barely heard her. She reached out and took Padmé’s hands.

  “And I would go,” she said.

  “I can’t be that dedicated to you,” Padmé said.

  “I know,” Sabé said.

  A long silence grew between them, but it wasn’t awkward. They both knew where they stood.

  “So,” said Sabé. “The Gungans.”

  She separated Padmé’s hair and began to braid in preparation for the headpiece.

  “Yes,” Padmé said. “I wish we knew more about them.”

  “Well, we know that Jar Jar is an outlier,” Sabé said. “That’s a start.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the summit—how I invited people from all over the sector and not anyone from the species that shares our own planet,” Padmé said. Sabé could tell from her tone that she was thinking out loud and didn’t interrupt. “In a lot of ways, it’s an even thornier problem to try to fix.”

  “And you’re going to start by asking them for help,” Sabé said. “That’s not going to make it any easier.”

  She straightened the headpiece on Padmé’s head and turned the chair around for a final check from the front.