TITLE - By Spangled Starlight Sheen
AUTHOR - Sache8
RATING - Teen
GENRE - Romance, Adventure, Drama.
DISCLAIMER - If Star Wars were mine, I definitely wouldn't be in such desperate need of a job. :-)
SUMMARY - In the advent of a new Empire, war and politics rock Naboo and threaten to sever time-tested bonds of tradition and family. Princess Sabé Naberrie struggles to hold her family together while burdened with a secret of her own.
Author's Preface: This story is the third in a trilogy that begins with Dance With the Stars, a coming of age story about young Princess Sabé Naberrie set during The Phantom Menace that tells the beginning of her friendship with Obi-Wan Kenobi. (I would also like to say, for the record, that I invented that title a long time before the reality TV show of a similar title came into existence). The story continues with Forget Me Not, a pre Attack of the Clones adventure/romance story with four different couples that tells how Sabé and Obi-Wan's friendship blossoms into love. It is not necessary to read those stories, if you choose not to, but I would obviously recommend it. If not, here are the basics of this slightly alternate Naboo:
Sabé, in addition to being the decoy we all know and love from canon, is also Padmé's twin sister. They have two other siblings, a younger sister Claria and a younger brother Richard. In this version of Naboo, the Naberrie family have been in power for almost 300 years. While technically anyone can run for office, only members of the Naberrie family ever get elected. After Padmé's two canon terms in office, she is succeeded by her brother Richard, who is nearing the end of his first term when this story begins.
BY SPANGLED STARLIGHT SHEEN
By Sache8
And now they never meet, in grove or green,
By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen.
William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 29-30.
Chapter One - Attack
In Theed, it was early spring. The hills around the city were already vibrant green. The lone watchman paid them no mind. He merely appreciated that they, like he, were steady. Constant. Patient.
Wedged under a balustrade barely wide enough to conceal him, the assassin pondered the game of chance he was playing. Less than a day remained before he'd be forced to leave this hiding place for need of water. Would Richard Naberrie's caution endure so long?
He could return, of course. Those who had hired him would be more than happy to smuggle him into the Parliament building yet again, past the royal security forces on supreme high alert, but every instance would further the chances of the scheme being discovered. If only they'd come to him in the first place, he could have worked without the bother of Naberrie's inconveniently high level of vigilance. After all, his successful assassination of the boy's mother had never been prosecuted.
Four days. The King of Naboo had not set a foot outside his palace in over four days. Hardly an effective means of governing a populace that was every bit on edge as their sovereign. The assassin smiled and tapped his gloved finger thoughtfully against the casing of his weapon. On second thought, perhaps those that had hired them knew better what they were playing at than they let on. It made little difference to him, as long as they delivered on their ample promises when he was finished.
Movement in the distance caught his attention. On the upper eastern balcony, someone was emerging who wasn't part of the security patrols that he had memorized to the minute. He slowly lifted his macrobinoculuars, setting them on their highest setting. What he saw there gave him pause. It was not a hesitation of conscience, but of possibility. There were, in fact, two figures on the balcony, one tall and one very short, both with red hair that made them painfully conspicuous. The queen and her young daughter.
The assassin licked his lips, pondering. He was already dangerously in need of food and water. Escape he could still manage, but only just. He did not think Naberrie was going to show, but how much damage would it inflict upon the prospects of the royal family if Richard's queen and two heirs were threatened in one blow? His eyes rested briefly on the queen's softly bulging belly as he thought this last.
Those that had hired him had not cited the queen as a target. Indeed, they had cited none but Naberrie. On the other hand, the assassin comprehended the ultimate goals of his employers, perhaps more than they realized. The psychological damage that he could inflict on the government and the people with this opportunity would be of more long-lasting value than perhaps they had ever possibly considered.
Anyway, he certainly had nothing to lose by not following orders to the letter. He was only a weapon for hire, after all.
With a grim set to his lips, the hunter took aim and fired.
An explosion rocked the palace.
Immediately Richard was on his feet, the legislation he'd been poring over all morning forgotten on the desk, a wild fear springing up in his chest.
"Yvenne," he muttered under his breath. He made a lunge for the door.
"No, Your Highness!" With sharp authority, Richard was knocked back two paces by an insistent shove from the captain of the security detail. "You know the protocol. Accompany us, please."
Richard could still feel the tremors in the floor, and he glared at the captain before complying with the order. Rage was already burgeoning in his stomach, rage and frustration, so potent they almost blotted out the fear. This was the sixth incident in two years.
They proceeded with all haste toward the center of the palace to the durasteel-reinforced turbolift, which took them down thirty stories to the subterranean bunker in less than a minute. Richard rushed into the room and looked around frantically. Yvenne and Sioned were nowhere to be seen.
"I want to know what's going on, Barris," he demanded, whirling around on the commander of his security forces, who had joined him en route. "I want to know my family is safe. Now!"
"Your Highness," Barris said with a crisp bow and fled the room, leaving Richard to pace alone under the watchful eye of two of the security team.
He couldn't rightly justify his fears. Yvenne knew the dangers and the protocols just as well as he did. Still, they had quarreled this morning, which was hardly unusual of late, but when she was angry at him she tended to behave recklessly, and they should have been at the bunker before him.
The idea of his last moments with his wife being spent on angry words was a nightmare that Richard would not be able to shake until he saw with his own two eyes that she was safe. He didn't permit these grim thoughts to extend as far as his children. But nothing could lessen the hammering of his heart while he waited. The silent minutes slipped past like eons.
At last, the doors of the bunker slid open and Richard turned with frantic expectation.
"Daddy!" The small figure, crowned in red curls, came hurtling towards him, and Richard was on his knees in an instant, scooping up his daughter in relief.
"Sioned! Thank Elsinoré," he muttered into her hair. He pulled back to study her face, smeared with dust and tear tracks. "Are you hurt?"
She sniffled. "No," she said bravely, another tear spilling over onto her cheek. She reached up to swipe at her nose with the back of her hand.
He reached up and brushed the tear away with his thumb. "That's my brave girl." Then he looked up behind her, at Commander Barris who had returned with her. "The queen?" he demanded.
Barris looked as discomfited as ever he possibly could. "She'll be fine. She's in the secure medical facilities."
Richard gathered Sioned in his arms and rose to his feet again, his expression hard even as he felt himself go pale. "What happened?" he demanded.
"An explosion, my lord. That's all we know for certain at this point. The queen and her highness were on the eastern balcony," here he nodded briefly at Sioned. "The attack took out the support pillars two levels below them, causing extreme structural damage. The queen was hit by quite a lot of incidental debris."
"Take me to her."
"My lord—"
"Barris, those medical facilities were designed to be secure for me as well as my family. Even if they weren't I wouldn't waste time arguing with you. I command you to take me to my wife."
"Yes, my lord."
When Jessa Kennich had landed on Naboo, she had never welcomed the open sky so much, even if it did feel unreasonably colder than any sky in so-called summer ought to feel. On the other hand, a chilly summer on a strange planet was far warmer than the unyielding and inescapable frigidness of space.
The journey from Commenor had not been easy; five days of steerage class transportation would have been grueling enough by herself. With a demanding six-year-old in tow it was enough to drive her to insanity. Jessa had never traveled offworld in her entire life, and this experience was doing little to recommend the experience. Perhaps to those with better means might find it enjoyable, but when credits were scarce, comfort and convenience might as well have been hidden in the very core of a gas giant for all they could be achieved.
If Larkin had hated the transport, she hated the spaceport even more. Jessa really couldn't blame her. It was no place fit for a young child, especially one who'd been rather scantily fed for the past week. Jessa hadn't counted on so many obstacles in customs after they'd landed. They would have been here a full day at least if there hadn't been any problems, and as Jessa's luck would have it, there was some kind of administrative glitch with her visa and she was stuck here until they figured it out.
The only bright side was that she was saving money on lodging, but she was starting to panic a little. She only had six more days to accomplish what she'd come for before she was due back at work. If she didn't make it back, she would lose her position—a position that had been very hard-won in the first place. She literally could not afford to fail.
At present, Jessa was sitting with her back against a dull gray wall trying to fight off sleep. Any minute, she told herself. Any minute they would call her number. She clutched the small piece of paper possessively in her hand, as though someone might snatch it from her if they caught her napping. Jessa had been watching the numbers for service climb for the past four hours. It was almost her turn. She didn't want to miss her chance by being unconscious when the moment finally came.
Plus, of course, falling asleep right now would make her a bad mother. She did her best to ignore the twinge of regret that, at present, her priorities were feeling a bit wrongly ordered between those two criteria.
"Mommy?"
Jessa jerked again, glanced at the number on the overhead display and sighed in relief. Still three to go. She looked at her daughter.
"What is it?"
Larkin's dark brown hair was the same color as her father's but lacked his bold curl. Her eyes, bright green, were Jessa's. Jessa also suspected she'd contributed the girl's pouty mouth, both in shape and how it was used. All of Larkin was in need of a good, hot scrubbing, with plenty of soap. Jessa harbored strong suspicions that she was not faring much better, and for this reason had avoided looking at her reflection in the mirror whenever possible after the second day.
"Can I have another cracker?"
Jessa stretched slightly and reached down for her large bag. It was crammed to the brim with as much she'd been allowed to bring on the transport, and it was mostly Larkin's things, almost all her clothes and favorite toys. There wasn't a lot of room for snacks. She reached into a side pocket and pulled out the crinkled package.
"There's only one left, sweetie," she said tiredly, pulling out the heavily crumbling cracker and handing it to her daughter. Her own stomach rumbled and she tried not to dwell on her lack of breakfast. After this, she promised, she'd break down and take Larkin to one of the vendors for something hot.
Larkin did not seem thrilled but accepted the cracker without comment, munching on it quietly. When she finished, she looked around. "How much longer?"
Jessa glanced at the wall. Two more. "Not much longer now," she said with a yawn.
"And then we can leave?"
"I don't know."
"I'm tired of this place."
"I know you are. So is mommy."
"Then we should just leave. Let's go back home to Commenor."
"We can't go back yet. Don't you want to see Naboo?"
"I saw it from the window. I want to go home."
"Do you remember why we came to Naboo?"
The child gave a noncommittal shrug. "To see my daddy," she repeated by rote. Her attention was now half preoccupied by a travel poster somewhere above Jessa's head. Jessa couldn't remember which glorious, pristine Naboo locale it was advertising. She'd only glanced at it when she'd taken this seat and that was four hours ago.
"Don't you want to see your daddy?" Jessa asked. "I'm sure he'll want to see you."
"You said he doesn't know about me."
Inwardly, Jessa cursed her daughter's sharp memory and her own tendency to be too frank with her. She closed her eyes, trying to maintain her patience. "Yes, but your daddy is a very nice man, and once I tell him about you I know he'll want to see you."
"And after that can we go home?"
Here, Jessa hesitated. It was true that she was generally straightforward with her daughter, but even she had her limits. If she told Larkin the truth, the odds that the girl would throw a royal fit sufficient to wake the dead were extremely high, almost a given. A patented response of mommy vagueness was called for here. "We'll see," she said. It was, to a certain extent the truth. She didn't rightly know if things would go the way she intended.
The overhead number changed again. Somewhat stiffly, Jessa shifted her weight and made to stand on her feet. "Come on, sweetie," she said to Larkin, holding out her left hand as soon as she was crouching. "We're going to be next." Her daughter took her hand and Jessa put her line ticket in her mouth just long enough to swing the over-heavy bag onto her shoulder. Then together mother and daughter headed for the counter.
They had almost arrived when, without warning, a klaxon began to sound. The lights flashed in colors of green and bright white and Larkin gave a small shriek and clung closer to Jessa, threatening to overbalance her.
A pre-recorded voice came over the loudspeaker. "Attention, attention. Security lockdown, code green. Security lockdown, code green. All personnel please report to your station. Repeat, Security lockdown, code green. All personnel please report to your stations."
The steadily pulsing light continued, and the handful of customs agents diligently working behind the counter went into a tizzy, closing and locking their windows and creating a general sense of panic and unease in all those around them. Quick as blinking they were outside the counter in the common area and rushing past the hoard of testy customers. Jessa seized one of them by the arm as he rushed by.
"What's code green?" she asked. "What's going on?"
"I'm sorry ma'am, I can't talk right now," he said, firmly removing her arm and pressing on. Jessa bit her tongue to keep from swearing.
A man nearby seemed to be holding some kind of portable radio or communications unit up to his ear. He pulled it away and glanced at Jessa. "It's a protocol set in place within the last year and a half," he informed her grimly. He nodded at the radio. "There's been another attempt on the king's life. They'll keep us in lockdown in case the assassin tries to escape through the spaceport. Best get comfy. We're going to be here another day at least."
Jessa dropped her bag onto the floor and tried not to cry. This time, she did swear.
Richard was greeted on the medical level by a small but frenzied staff, and the chief medic, who told him in respectful but clipped terms that she did not have room for him and Sioned inside the room where they were treating Yvenne, and made him wait outside. He waited there dutifully for the better part of an hour.
Finally, the chief medic emerged at a pace very much to Richard's liking. She gave a quick curtsey but did not complete it before she began reporting. She did not raise her eyes.
"Your Majesty, the queen is stable. She suffered severe bruising to the arms and legs, three cracked ribs and a mild concussion. She will recover, my lord."
Another third of Richard's worry evaporated. His mouth felt dry as he forced himself to ask the last question. "And the baby?"
Finally the medic lifted her eyes. He could see her fear, but it was a remnant only. "There are some things we cannot know for certain, my lord, but by every test at my disposal indicates that your son will suffer no lasting harm." She did not smile. Richard perceived that she was still much too shaken to surrender to relief.
Richard could not help but do so, however. "Thank you," he said, reaching out and putting a grateful hand on the medic's shoulder. "May I see her?"
"Certainly, my lord. But then she must rest. Her body has a lot of work ahead."
"Of course."
With some trepidation, he followed the medic around another couple of corners. He could hear the beeping of the monitors before they arrived in the room. As they rounded the corner, he noted a couple of med droids working quietly in the corners before his eyes found his wife.
Rage filled the corners of his body again at the sight of her, quickly taking up its usual residence now that the fear was gone. Yvenne lay on the bed, eyes closed. A bandage was wrapped tightly around her head, plastering her copper-colored hair to her face. There were nasty-looking scratches on her cheeks and her neck, and she was breathing shallowly. His eyes rested briefly on her pregnant stomach, and a cold chill washed over him at the thought of what he had very nearly lost.
Yvenne must have heard the clamor of five pairs of footsteps outside her door. Her eyes cracked open and she looked at Richard wearily, and tried to smile. "Richard," she murmured.
Richard turned to the others. "Leave us."
Even the perpetually disapproving Barris made no argumentative gesture, but glared at the others, who hastened back down the corridor a ways. The medic pulled a privacy curtain over the door as she departed.
Richard put his daughter on the floor, and she padded silently over to her mother with familiarity, taking the hand that Yvenne had weakly proffered. "Hi, sweetheart," Yvenne said softly, smiling down at her.
"Hi, mommy."
Richard chewed on his tongue for a minute, trying to gain some composure before he spoke. He was so on edge he couldn't be certain what he would say to her, only that it would likely be something he'd regret.
Yvenne tenderly caressed Sioned's curls for a moment, and then looked back up at Richard. "I'm sorry, Richard," she said.
He turned his face away, still trembling with the effort not to erupt. Taking a deep breath, he asked, "What were you thinking?"
"I just wanted some fresh air. Sioned is going stir-crazy, and you know I hate being cooped up in this glorified prison—" she trailed off, letting the trail of feeble excuses kill themselves. "I was mad at you," she said in a tired, resigned voice. "I wanted to make you mad."
"Well, it worked." His jaw trembled with tension. "Thank you, Yvenne, for putting our son and daughter into your little act of vengeance. I hope you got all the satisfaction you were hoping for. I wouldn't want all of this to have been for nothing."
Yvenne closed her eyes tightly, but could not keep two tears from slipping down over her bruised cheeks. "Force, Richard, I am so sorry." Her hand tightened slightly on the crown of Sioned's head and she shook her head. "You were right, you were right. Please forgive me." She reached out a hand to him.
He could see her terror, and it killed his anger. Suddenly, he just felt tired. He stepped forward and took the hand. "I'm sorry too," he said with a weary voice, closing his eyes briefly. "More than you know. I'm glad you're safe."
Looking around, Richard spotted a nearby stool and stepped away long enough to pull it to her bedside. Wordlessly, he pulled Sioned into his lap as Yvenne slowly rubbed her hand back and forth over her protruding belly. "What happened?" he asked quietly.
She swallowed. "I wasn't going to stay out there long. Just one quick trip around the balcony." She shook her head painfully. "After that it was one nightmarish blur. It's like I felt the explosion before I heard it. There was this strange, deathly quiet when the whole floor seemed to shake and then the whole world was just loud chaos. I grabbed Sioned and ran for the lintel, but I couldn't keep my balance. We fell, and I covered her—I covered them both— just before the ceiling started falling." She squeezed his hand and looked at him with terror in her blue eyes. "I was lucky, Richard. I could have broken my back, or crushed my skull… I was lucky."
Her hand, still clenching his, was trembling fiercely. Richard honestly didn't know if he'd ever seen her this frightened before.
"Now do you believe the threat is real?" he asked, not unkindly.
She managed a slight nod. "What do they want from us?" she asked, her voice close to a whisper.
Sioned had rested her head against Richard's chest and was sucking placidly on her thumb, content in the absolute safety of her father's arms. Richard pressed his lips briefly into his daughter's hair as his eyes hardened. "I don't know yet," he told his wife, "but I swear I'll find out. And I assure you, whoever they are, they'll wish they'd never crossed me."
Yané val Argon was having a nice dream about one of the palace security guards when a nearby crashing sound caused her to jerk awake.
She looked around stiffly, but it was a several hazy, blinking moments before she realized that what had crashed was a small pile of papers that had once been precariously perched on the tabletop beside her elbow. She seemed to remember a plate full of crumbs and a couple of napkins had topped it off. Frowning, she looked down and discovered the offending plate on the floor nearby.
"Nice going, Yan," she muttered, reaching down to pick it up. "Just wake up the whole building." With a deep yawn, she put the plate back on the edge of the table and glanced at the chrono. It was well past midnight. She should go to bed, but Jappo had yet to return, and the idea of going to bed while he was still out braving the wilds of the high brow scholastic underworld— or trying to, anyway— always made her feel guilty.
Instead, she got to her feet and rubbed the back of her neck while she slowly walked up and down the bank of flat-paneled monitors they'd managed to fit into this tiny little closet. None of her alarms had tripped, nor any of the less-important flags, meaning she probably would not have to pay for her little nap, but she'd pass the video feeds along to Desmé for review tomorrow all the same. A second pair of eyes never hurt, especially since Desmé's eyes were five times sharper than Yané's and a hundred times better than any computer. Yané hadn't been hired for her investigative acumen, after all. She was here to make sure the cameras and computers kept working and, most importantly, to make sure neither computer nor camera got an agent compromised.
Yané stared at one screen in particular longer than the others. It showed a half-moon shaped table, a private booth at a local restaurant that had been surrounded by people when she'd fallen asleep. Now it was empty. Hopefully, this meant Joppa would be back soon, and he could interpret in real people language all the murky doubletalk spy language that had lulled Yané into unsolicited slumber. If it was spy talk. It had sounded like raucous inane babble of drunk, idle young men, but she'd been wrong before. Joppa seemed to think they were on the right track, so she just took his word for it and put hidden cameras where she was asked.
Finally satisfied that there was nothing out of the ordinary to merit her staying in the room, Yané picked up the plate of crumbs and squeezed back between the desk and the wall towards the narrow door. It was a shame, really. They had an entire suite at their disposal, but with wide windows and friendly neighbors, there was nowhere to hide the inner workings of a safe house but in the walk-in closet. Yané could only hope that none of those friendly neighbors were paying too close of attention, or they might wonder why the flighty girlfriend of the nice young university student next door spent almost all of her time in said closet.
A twenty-digit password unlocked the door, letting her out. Desmé had once commented that this was a very dangerous protocol to have in place if they ever had a fire, but for Yané it was a small price to pay. She couldn't afford to install the security features she'd prefer without raising suspicion, so she considered it an acceptable compromise. Once in the kitchen, Yané absentmindedly set the plate in the sink and sorted through the cupboards looking for a clean glass. Saché would have her head if she could see this kitchen, Yané thought, smiling slightly to herself. Fortunately, Saché was several hours away in Kaserta, probably exhausted from chasing her energetic son all over her gargantuan house all day.
Yané finally found a small cup that would serve and poured herself a bit of water from the tap. She drank it eagerly, feeling suddenly parched with thirst. It was no surprise. Yané was not one for rules most of the time, but there was one rule she maintained with fierce authority: absolutely, under no circumstances, were there ever to be drinks in the computer room. Thinking back to the plate full of crumbs, she wondered if she oughtn't extend the rule to food as well. Probably not a bad idea, she decided, pouring herself a second tiny cup of water. She really needed to do the dishes in the morning.
She was still debating whether or not to wait up for Joppa or go to bed, and in an effort to stall, got a head start on the morning's chore by ponderously stacking the dishes beside the sink. Her mind wandered in between her computer monitors, Saché's system of arranging dishes, and elusive details of that nice dream she'd been having just a little while ago. The thousandth yawn of the night had just left her lips when she finally heard the sound of her partner's footsteps outside in the hall.
Relieved, Yané headed out into the foyer to greet him. She reached it just as the lock clicked in release and the door pushed inward. Joppa looked every bit as exhausted as Yané was feeling. He shut the door slowly and Yané reached over to the security pad beside her and entered the code that would prevent the alarm from going off.
"Thanks," Joppa said. He threw his bag on the countertop beneath the mirror. "Well, that was a waste of time." He sighed.
"Nothing?" she asked, feeling sympathetic.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I learned which girls from the Oxon families are easy," he said sarcastically. He shook his head. "Fraternity boys."
"Yeah, I kind of fell asleep."
"Wish I could have. Remind me why we're here?"
"We're trying to infiltrate an anti-governmental cult within the aristocracy we tentatively think are known as the Klions." Yané answered what was probably supposed to be a rhetorical question. "We also think they recruit through the universities and that they may be behind the attempts on Richard's life."
"Now you're starting to sound like Desmé," he said, reaching up to rub at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Textbook answer."
"I'm sleepy. Be impressed with textbook. So they're not taking the bait?"
"No, they're either too stupid or too careful. And by 'they' I mean whoever's pulling the strings, because that crowd wasn't much on collective brains." His shoulders slumped as he lowered his hand again and he exhaled in frustration. "To hell with the evidence; my gut tells me we're knocking on the right door. We just don't have the right key." He crossed his arms and bit his lower lip.
She frowned. "Well, does your gut have any fresh ideas?"
"Unfortunately, no. Not tonight."
They left the foyer to get ready for bed, Yané in the guest bedroom, Joppa in the master. If any of the neighbors had figured out that the flighty girlfriend had her own bed, then Yané figured they just had too much time on their hands and they should mind their own business.
She left the water running loudly while she brushed her teeth, and so didn't hear Joppa calling her name until he'd done so three or four times. Spitting and scowling simultaneously, she rinsed her mouth and turned off the water.
"What?" she said tartly, wandering into his room. He was standing in the middle staring at the holofeed.
He nodded at the news program. "Maybe my gut will get some help," he said. "There was another attack. This time on the palace."
A/N: I haven't finished writing this yet. But my hope is that posting and getting feedback will keep the creative juices flowing and the muse well satiated. So if you enjoy what you read, please let me know. It's not a condition of my continued writing, but it will probably help it happen faster. ;-)