Chapter Four
Death.
This is real death.
Reflected in glossy black, marked by scorches, burns. This is real death, she thought. Before this day, before this moment, she had never seen it. Funeral pyres were not death. Those bodies, shadowed behind brilliant, dancing flames, were not death. The souls were gone, having slipped peacefully, naturally away. Death was long absent from them, those bodies lying empty and shelled on the stone. Death had not come to them, had only accepted them.
This is real death.
Death was without time. An eternity must have passed, but she doubted eternity meant anything for death. Death also had no words, no language, no expression. She felt her lips move to say, "I've never seen a dead body before. I've never seen death."
Nothing . . . she could not even whisper.
Sabé could only close her eyes. Finally.
This is real death.
Someone shifted behind her. One of the palace guards. Sabé opened her eyes, absorbing the deep, glossy floor. More death awaited them. She had passed it in search of this one, had passed so much.
She slowly turned her heavy yet empty head to Obi-Wan. He had not moved since he had softly validated death. The words had rendered him to perfect stillness. She wondered, numbly, how time had passed, or if it had stopped, too. But the quiet, subdued lives behind her were brushing against this stillness; time must be passing, life had not stopped, not completely.
They just had to find it.
Sabé started to move. Pain seemed to burst from her knees, and she almost cried out at the shock of feeling. But she stifled it. Only her battle skirt whispered as she shifted to stand.
A hand suddenly clenched her wrist. Enclosing it. Stopping everything.
"Wait."
Sabé swallowed, frozen. One word, but it had been choked out, thrust through hard anguish. Obi-Wan's hand gripped her small wrist like a vice. She feared, for a tiny instant, he would drown her again.
Maybe he sensed her fear, because he finally turned to her. She almost gasped, but she had no breath. Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes were not naked with pain, only thinly shrouded by a threadbare veil she felt, if pulled only a little tighter, strained a little more, would unravel completely.
"Just . . ." Obi-Wan's frayed eyes fell away from her face, and Sabé's heart wrenched. "Just a moment," he said, a soft plea.
Sabé nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
Obi-Wan bowed his head over his fallen Master. His hand on her wrist tightened for a brief, very painful moment, but Sabé uttered not a sound. She kept very still, her eyes on Obi-Wan's trembling profile. She held no awareness of her breathing, only the way the Jedi's silent inhale seemed to draw in the inky, lost depths of the floor. Something soft and whispery seemed to undulate from within her, but she could not concentrate or focus on it. Then Obi-Wan exhaled, his shoulders seeming to roll, slide down with the silently released breath. His hold on her eased gently, soothingly.
Another moment passed, and Sabé realized she was kneeling beside Obi-Wan at the moment of his life.
Obi-Wan released her hand before she could absorb this, could fully comprehend its spinning effect. She watched as Obi-Wan Kenobi lifted his dead mentor into his arms with gentle grace that should not be physically possible. It would be absurd, if not for the intense concentration on the young but aged man's closed face.
Sabé stood with him, finding the pain in her knees welcoming. She felt stiff and weak.
Obi-Wan wordlessly carried Qui-Gon Jinn away from the spot of his death. Turning with him, she automatically felt her Queen mask falling over her. She saw the six palace guards, her command. They were exhausted from battle. A stunned, palpable grief clung to them, but there was grim triumph there, too. She had seen it in the throne room as she ordered them to follow her.
They were tired, ragged, but they were strong. She had to be strong, too.
The stony mask she wore as Queen Amidala settled over her face comfortingly. Sabé wondered, vaguely, if she should even use it. She had led these five men and one woman through battle. They knew who she was. But the mask, trained unto her like a second skin, she served well. Now it would serve her.
Balen, the senior private of her little group, took a step forward and nodded to her. "My lady?"
Sabé stared at the man for a second. He was awaiting orders. She wished, for that second, he had limped her along, given her a directional question. But only for a second. She might have left that conspicuous headdress in the throne room, but she could still command.
"Inform the Captain we've found the Jedi," she said, her voice low and calm. The Queen's voice. She almost winced at how harsh her words sounded. But then she hesitated, just the slightest, over her next words. "Ask to have a gurney meet us."
She doubted anyone missed the small tremor. Balen's eyes flicked to the Jedi, then back to her. "Yes, m'lady," he said dutifully before going for his comlink.
Obi-Wan, silently carrying his burden, moved forward. Sabé opened her mouth to tell him to wait for the gurney, but she quickly shut it and signaled to her guards to return through the now inactive shield corridor. She and Obi-Wan followed.
Her eyes followed the scorch marks of the lightsaber battle. It felt like a lifetime ago when she had traced these slashing burns to the generator pit. She'd been reeling from battle, her heart pounding, her mind racing, her adrenaline still pumping and churning as she retraced the battle over the dead soldiers and shattered battledroids. She had passed so many, acknowledging the death around her, but not really seeing it, not yet. They were dead, they were bodies, they were life shattered and destroyed by fiery hot energy, but she had not been able to stop for them. She was chasing death down, then, chasing down her fear of finding the Jedi dead. She'd been running on pure hope but pushed on by dread.
But now she saw the evidence of blackened battle in reverse. The first ones they passed were the closest to death. Each mark took them a little farther from it. Yet she knew at the end of the corridor, at the end of the catwalks, lay more death. Each step that brought her farther from death also brought her closer to it.
This is real death.
"You're hurt."
Sabé startled slightly and looked at Obi-Wan uncomprehendingly. Ahead of her, the Naboo guard paused as Balen's comlink crackled. They were standing just within the cavernous chamber networked with the narrow walkways the engineers used to operate the plasma mine.
"What?"
Obi-Wan tilted his head. "Your arm."
Sabé stared at him another second. Concern creased his brow, deepened the blue in his eyes, pulled his grim mouth down.
"Oh," she said. She followed his gaze to her right arm and fingered the hasty bandaging around her forearm. Now it had her attention, she could feel the itchy ache of the blaster burn, but it was only a vague memory of the blazing pain it had been. The cooling salve was helping.
"It's just a scratch," she said, shrugging. Grimly she thought, I got off lucky.
Obi-Wan's frown, if possible, deepened for a moment. Sabé fought the urge to rotate her stiff arm. How could he be worrying about her when he was carrying his dead master in his arms?
Balen and the others were moving forward again, and Sabé tore her stare away from Obi-Wan. The dismal group boarded the service lift to return to the hangar level where Panaka would have someone waiting with the gurney. The Naboo, she could see, were trying hard not to stare at the Jedi Master's body. Their eyes looked everywhere but at the Jedi.
Sabé, head bowed slightly, studied Obi-Wan from underneath her lashes. He was staring down at the floor past Qui-Gon's body. A light sweat had broken out on his temples from the strain of carrying such a large man. She wondered just how far physically and emotionally Obi-Wan Kenobi had been pushed today. How far all of us are, she added silently.
The lift halted with a gentle bump. Obi-Wan's head lifted and he blinked, as if coming out of a trance. His eyes clouded, turning almost deep gray.
Sabé turned to see two figures standing next to an empty gurney. Just beyond them through the open hangar doors, she could see remnants of battledroids strewn across the polished stone floor. Her eyes fell to burgundy, orange, and blue uniforms of fallen Naboo, of the dead she had passed before.
The stiffness in her arm spread through her body, but her knees weakened as she followed her guard toward the gurney. She focused on the faces of the young healer apprentice and the graying palace aid. The apprentice, donned in his light blue tunic, stared nervously at the Jedi, a blaster clutched awkwardly to his chest. Sabé noted the safety was still on. Toma Rulon was also armed, but she held the blaster at her side in a cold, disdainful manner, and her lined face held tired, saddened eyes.
"Her Highness was asking about you, m'lady," said Toma quietly. "You were gone a long while."
Sabé only nodded.
"Raoul, here, will escort the—the b-bod—" Toma paused, looking uncertainly at Obi-Wan.
"To the palace healing wing, of course," said Sabé. She nodded to Raoul, who looked very pale and very young, though he could not have been any younger than her. He quickly stepped aside for Obi-Wan.
The Jedi did not move. Sabé could see the conflict.
"Obi-Wan," she said softly. Gently, she touched his arm just above where Qui-Gon was braced against him. Through the sweat-dampened cloth, she could feel hard, straining muscle trembling under the weight. Her fingertips brushed burnt fabric, and, seeing more such marks, she suddenly wondered just how close Obi-Wan Kenobi had come to death as well.
Obi-Wan nodded, bringing Sabé's eyes upward again, saving her fingers from clenching impulsively over his sleeve. He moved forward and she stepped back, watching with a heavy heart as the Padawan carefully, gently lowered his Master onto the hovering gurney. Obi-Wan touched Qui-Gon Jinn's forehead and bowed his head, eyes closed.
Good-bye.
Sabé turned away. She could not watch such a private moment.
Instead she saw more death.
Sabé moved slowly toward one fallen form. Tremblingly, she knelt down beside him and reached out, pulling the shoulder back to see the face.
She gasped.
Empty, vacant brown eyes stared up at her. Her vision blurred as she touched the dark, ashen hole in his chest. When had he been hit? She tried to remember, tried to sort through the chaos of laser fire and lightsabers and starfighters. She should know. She had been there. Hadn't she? She tried to remember.
A steady hand gripped her shoulder. Sabé remembered the ripping moment of agony throwing her back. I'm dead! She was falling, expecting to fall forever. But then strong arms caught her, braced her, and she was pulled away from the fire . . .
"Sabé!"
"I . . . I'm all right."
"Your arm—"
"Oh, gods—"
"Wait! You can't go back out there! You're shot!"
"I can fire left-handed as well."
"You're mad—Sa—just stay with me."
When did he fall? He'd guarded her, but she had not focused on her own safety. Did he die because he'd guarded her, shielded her from deadly fire meant for the Queen? Did he die right there at her feet without her knowing?
This is real death.
"Sabé."
A warm, live hand pulled her fingers away from the killing wound. Sabé blinked rapidly. Why couldn't she see properly?
"Sabé."
She shook the hand away and wiped furiously at her eyes. What was wrong with them?
The hand on her shoulder seemed to pulse, but a corner of her mind thought this ridiculous. But the notion was strangely soothing, clearing her head. She realized she couldn't see because she was crying. Sick and lightheaded, she gave her eyes another swipe, then blinked to clear them. She thought, perhaps, that the tears had stopped.
"Sabé."
Obi-Wan.
Sabé breathed deeply, closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them.
"Did you know him?" he asked softly.
"No," she said hoarsely. "Not really. But—but I think he d-died protecting m-me."
Obi-Wan squeezed her shoulder gently. Then she saw his other hand pass over the staring, vacant eyes of the dead man, closing them. Sabé stared a moment, then slowly turned to Obi-Wan, not quite meeting his eyes.
"Did I sob?" she asked, feeling foolish. Underneath her undoubtedly smeared mask, her cheeks flamed. Had she lost it in front of her command, Raoul, Toma, and Obi-Wan?
"No," Obi-Wan said gently. "You were very quiet about it."
Sabé looked at him searchingly. She swore if there had been any room for anything but pain in his eyes then, they would have twinkled.
"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."
The Jedi looked away, his hand sliding off her shoulder. He stood without another word and walked away. Sabé felt even sicker. Shakily, she rose and followed the Jedi back to the group assembled around the gurney. Raoul and Toma, with the help of the guards, had lifted five other fallen Naboo onto other gurneys.
"We'll take these to the healing wing," said Toma, looking at Sabé, "then return for . . . more."
The handmaiden nodded numbly. She could feel eyes of her fellow Naboo on her. Waiting. She stared at them blankly for a long moment.
"The boy," Obi-Wan said suddenly. Everyone startled and looked at the Jedi. There was a hint of wildness, a bit of sudden panic, in his hard eyes. "Anakin," he said tightly, looking around. "Where is he?"
But it sounded like Is he dead, too? Sabé mentally shook herself. "He's fine. He's with the squadron." She tried to smile reassuringly, but her ruined mask felt sticky. "Anakin destroyed the droid control ship."
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. "What?"
"That's right," said Balen, grinning. "Apparently the kid flew right into it and blasted it from the inside." The other guards around the gurneys were grinning, too. "Last we heard, the Queen ordered the squadron to sweep Morleed and Thasyin for any last Federation resistance."
Obi-Wan nodded to Balen, then turned to his Master's body. Balen's mirth faded and a heaviness settled over the group again. Sabé cast another look around the cluttered, damaged hangar. The remaining dead and the scattered pieces of droid did not belong under the graceful marble arches.
"M'lady," Balen said, clearing his throat. "Allow me to escort you to the Queen."
She nodded. At her motion, the guard began moving the gurneys. Obi-Wan stayed with his Master's body, heading for the tow speeder Sabé realized would slowly carry the dead through from the hangar to the healing wing. She noticed then that the Padawan had reclaimed his robe and draped Qui-Gon's over his body.
"This way, m'lady," said Balen, gesturing to the swiftest exit to the palace's main wing.
Sabé slowly turned away from the procession, from the battleground.
This is real death.
Travel from Tatooine to Naboo does not require hyperspace, as sublight engines on maximum will suffice if the travelers are not on a scheduled rush. A ship's crew find such a jump wasteful of fuel and energy. Sabé, however, did not have the luxury of being conservative.
The Lorian prismed out of hyperspace.
Sabé gazed out at the stars, letting her eyes take their time. She felt drained. Her mind was clicking systematically through everything she had learned in the past hours, but her heart and body still ached. The crying echoes of dying Jedi still rang in her blood. Never before in her solitary meditations had she been so in the Force, and never before had it ever felt like this. It'd throbbed distressingly.
She should have pulled away, closed herself off. But Sabé could not—not when she was so in, on her own, without Master Yoda's assistance. And so she'd endured the pain, if only to maintain her tentative hold. It held her there, until her mind had said enough.
Exhausted, she'd slept, until Yoda's chime awoke her. The message had been live, hurried, and quick. The clones, an army of the Republic, saved the remaining Jedi. Dooku had escaped. Skywalker was escorting the Senator back to Naboo. The Senate would surely vote for war. Skywalker was injured, and would have a few days of rehabilitation on Naboo before returning to Coruscant. The darkness increased.
She must do it now.
Sabé's eyes finally, reluctantly, settled on the emerald and azure jewel.
Naboo.
Her hands clenched over the controls. She had not seen her homeworld in five years. It was as beautiful as she remembered, but the sight did not fill her heart with warmth. This was no homecoming.
This is no longer my home, she told herself. I am no longer of Naboo. Even as she thought this, a little, nagging voice whispered in her ear, Then why do you still carry it with you? Although the average person would recognize no trace of Sabé's native heritage on her persona, as was necessary for her position, the Naboo could not completely erase her deep roots. She kept her dark, thick hair long and braided. Her clothes, while plain and unassuming, were still made of fine but functional cloth. The dark cloak was interwoven with dark gray and navy threads and very subtly embroidered on the cowl and sleeves. The most telling and exposing element, however, was the tattoo just above the curve of her left hip.
The marked oath of a handmaiden.
Sabé despite everything, despite her total dedication to this anonymous life, could not erase this.
Pale-faced and drawn, Sabé regarded Naboo as it gradually bloomed in her viewscreen. To her left, reaching from Theed's region, a convoy line was bound for the pass to the Hydian Way. Although the freighters were very far and tiny, Sabé knew they were likely the most gracefully designed freighters in the galaxy. The Naboo preferred their artistic engineering designs on even the most commercial, industrial craft.
"Private cruiser, Lorian S-class, this is Naboo space control," a voice crackled over her open channel. "Please transmit identification and state purpose."
"Copy that, Naboo," Sabé said, keeping her voice calm and smooth. "Transmitting now. I'm homebound for Thasyin."
For the first time in many years, Sabé truly identified herself to planetary control. As a native, she would receive less notice and inspection. Declaring herself homebound for Thasyin would place her even further out of sight. She was merely a private citizen returning home. If the name Mabriee sparked any notice, any recognition, it would be associated with her family's merchant guild based in Thasyin. Nothing unusual.
"Lorian S-417," said space control a moment later, "you are cleared. Do you need coordinates?"
"No, thank you. I know my way home."
Sabé pressed her lips in a grim line as she piloted the Lorian into Naboo's atmosphere. She knew her way home, but she would not be going there. This is my home no longer, she told herself sternly.
The Queen had seen to that.
No.I have seen to that.
"I am not a reflection of you."
Clouds swirled over the viewscreen.
"I am not your problem. You cannot make them disappear by being rid of me."
Sabé shook the words away. She stared at the clouds, losing herself in their dance around the vessel's heat.
"You know nothing of duty."
Condensation and air . . . steam and mist . . . Sabé felt them come through the viewscreen and wrap around her, caress her like a soothing balm. Duty. She understood it. Every second brought her closer to Naboo, but every second Sabé pulled further away.
As the clouds cleared, Naboo and Thasyin opened before her. Below, rushing under her, was a grand, rolling plain of emerald fields. Miles and miles of it stretched out to a range of majestic mountains dark with vegetation that eventually gave way to black volcanic stone from the planet's infant days. Clouds covered the snowcaps that thawed enough in the high summer months to swell the rivers winding and glittering below the cruiser's shadow. Stretching out from the wide, sweeping valley, like a jeweled tongue of the mountains, was Thasyin.
Sabé felt warm appreciation for the planet's dedication to making its cities monuments to art and beauty as much as a place for civilization to live and grow. Thasyin did not rise upward in metallic ambition, but stretched low, caressingly over the land. As the center hub for Naboo's agriculture and the doorway for the cave miners, Thasyin had grown out of the mountain valley and edged around the foot of the Allhanas. Under the pressure to expand but not to intrude on the fertile farmland, the city had begun building up the mountain, but still Sabé's eyes beheld the myriad, twisting gardens and verandas that interlaced the rounded, arching architecture.
Sabé smoothly guided the Lorian into Thasyin's approach vector. Although the city was one of Naboo's three hub cities, the interplanetary traffic was light. She flew easily through the yawning mouth of the valley, into Thasyin's steadily throbbing heart. Before her, their profiles lined with silvery mists, rose the Allhanas. They held her eyes for a moment, as if beckoning to the child who had once climbed their trees, swam in their bubbling, crystal pools, and explored their deep, treasure-filled caves.
But Sabé lowered her eyes, shoved Lyhana, her home village, out of her mind.
Instead she located a docking bay and hangar she knew well in the trade district. As she opened her comm channel and requested a place to land, an uneasy pang rippled through her chest. Slowly approaching to her right, she could see her father's bay. A familiar, faded bronze mercantile ship was being cleaned. Its oblong, wide curves rolled back to small, rounded fins over the hyperdrive burners. She could see workers crawling over the smooth, elegant hull, repainting the Naboo and Mabriee crests.
Sabé looked away.
Unbidden, a memory tried to grip her, tried to take her down to her father's ship. Of suddenly seeing her father striding down the palace garden corridor, a wide smile splitting his bearded face, of dropping all dignity and running into his outstretched arms, of being crushed while his laugh boomed through his chest into her ear. He'd crushed her, and although Papa was not a particularly big man, he'd seemed larger than life then as he clutched her and swung her around. She had not seen him in five months before that moment, since the Trade Federation blockade had left him stranded on other worlds, unable to return home.
"I hear you've been up to mischief, my pebble," he'd said, setting her down and tugging the cowl of her hood.
"Mabriee," said the comm channel, "you have clearance for docking bay seventeen."
"Copy that."
Sabé saw the blue flashing number to her left and turned the Lorian to the small dock. She knew if she were to land in the Mabriee hangar, she would receive a welcoming much like the one long ago in Theed.
That was another life, she thought as the cruiser's engines were winding down. Quickly she allowed the cloud dance to fill her again, soothe and relax her. Her mind clicked again, spurring her into action and purpose as the engines gave a soft whistle before releasing a hissing yawn.
Sabé already had the communications computer searching for the royal internal network. She had not dared to use it with space control tracking her planetary approach. Now, completely under security's scope, she could actively find the Senator's signal. She hoped her jump from near the Corellian Run had bought her time to reach Naboo before Skywalker and the Senator. Almost as an afterthought, she flipped on a passive setting to Naboo's space control channel, listening with half an ear to the chatter of inbound and outbound flights. Yoda had informed her, from Obi-Wan Kenobi, that Skywalker and the Senator were headed for the Lake Country, where Skywalker had shortly safeguarded her before the impromptu trip to Tatooine and Geonosis. Thasyin was the closest spaceport to the remote Lake Country hidden deep within the Allhanas, and a royal cruiser would be less conspicuous in a Thasyin hangar than flying into one of the remote villages. Since she had the necessary information to find their hideaway, Sabé knew she did not absolutely need to track the cruiser.
But Skywalker and the Senator made a predictably unpredictable team, and Sabé did not want to rule anything out.
With an ear tuned to the comm, and an eye and hand pinpointing the royal network, Sabé accessed the Naboo registry and her bank account. Although Naboo was a Republic system, it still kept its own currency that was interchangeable with the galactic dacteries. Most Naboo preferred to use their native tender, making Nubian credits worth more. Sabé could access her Naboo account from anywhere in the galaxy through the authorization of the Intergalactic Bank, but she rarely did. When she'd turned fourteen, the age of legal young adulthood on Naboo, Sabé had inherited a third of her family's income from the mercantile. She had been finishing school and then went right into handmaiden training with no use for her newfound inheritance, and with little knowledge that she was also receiving a stipend for her royal duty. So the money had sat and collected interest for over five years before she had needed to touch it, and then, only pulling what she needed to get to Coruscant, and afterwards only when she absolutely needed it, the interest had continued to build over the next five years. With Naboo's banking system in better shape that the galactic system, Sabé now had a considerable nest egg.
But Sabé only viewed her account pragmatically as she removed a credit-chip disk from the belt around her waist. She transferred a workable amount to the disk and slipped it back into the small pocket on her belt. She would need to stop at the bank for physical Nubian coins before she continued with her next errand.
The probing comm suddenly pinged. Sabé swiveled around, a grim smile alighting her stony face. The Senator's cruiser was in-system, and only a few moments later, space control was hailing them. Purpose and destination were not broadcast over the airwaves, but Sabé watched the information scrolling down the royal network and saw, indeed, Thasyin was their destination.
Moving swiftly, Sabé secured the ship and exited it.
She paused when her feet touched the old, washed stone floor of the docking bay. A tight heat held in her chest. This was the first time in five years she had set foot on Naboo.
A mixture of joy and heaviness fell upon her, and Sabé lifted her face to see through the open weather canopy a cloud dappled sky moving overhead. A small, gleaming land ship flew past, its hull a dazzling reflection of Naboo art and technology. Then a thicker, gray bottomed cloud passed over the sun, and Sabé lowered her chin and set her shoulders.
She had a mission.
At the bay's entrance, Sabé slid her credit disk through the attendant droid, securing this public bay for a week. She doubted she would need that long—a cynical part of her wondered if she would be alive that long—but the substantial stay would look less suspicious, like a family visit.
The public terminal buzzed and bustled in a quiet, friendly manner as Sabé silently slipped along the curving foot passage to the city streets beyond. Dressed in grays, she knew she was an oddity in her fashionable, expressive culture, but as she had been on Coruscant and many other worlds, she was only a shadow, and eyes slid away. But she knew, for her own ease, she needed to blend in better. Sabé smirked a little, thinking about the necessary shopping trip she was about to make.
Just as she came down the wide, sweeping steps of the public terminal, Sabé's ears heard a faint but familiar whine and felt a nudging whisper point her gaze into the sky toward the open gap of the Allhanas. Glinting in the dappled light, the unmistakable hull of the royal cruiser moved gracefully toward her. Its swept-back, bullet appearance drew the eyes of many around her before it dipped toward the private hangars on the other side of the valley.
The mission was on.
It only took Sabé minutes to find the nearest branch of Thasyin's banks. She kept her hood down, a friendly, unassuming expression on her face as she entered the fountain-filled lobby. The exchange for physical currency was quick. Sabé smiled and nodded to the droid supervisor, who had raised a disapproving eyebrow over Sabé's expressionless attire.
"Shopping trip," she shrugged sheepishly, smiling as she pocketed her Nubian credits.
The older woman smiled politely and continued on to the next droid teller.
An hour later, Sabé pretended to stroll dreamily through Thasyin's winding, viney streets as she headed quite purposefully for docking bay 17. Eyes of passersby drifted to her, but she allowed them, offering a shy smile as she passed. Dressed now in a light, flowing soft green skirt and pale tunic, she looked like a simple Thasyin native. A spring, jade cape hung from clasps on her shoulders, fluttering behind her in the breeze as she carried her old clothes and her new purchases in two canvas rucksacks. She'd also braided her hair into a partial crown around her head, leaving the rest to cascade down her back. Sabé knew she painted a lighthearted picture.
She could have hailed a speeder or cart pulled by droid or four-legged equus, but she preferred to use her legs after being cooped in the small cruiser. Even though the comfortable feel of soft cloth and flowing skirts was familiar, she felt as much a ghost traveling the streets as she had in her shadowy cloak. The streets of Thasyin were familiar, seemingly unchanged from school years, except now she saw a light smattering of Gungans and kaadu. Most Gungans still kept to their swamps far south of Thasyin, but Sabé could easily see why an adventurous few would journey to this isolated but providential city. But for the most part, the Naboo strolling the streets and gathering under awnings to talk were the dark-haired, dark featured natives, though Sabé did see flashes of light Roolin hair and deep Mourin skin. Years ago, she would not have given her people such scrutiny, would not have noticed the tribal division remnant of Naboo's long ago civil war. After traveling the galaxy and experiencing the explosion of species on Coruscant, Sabé was surprised by how much the Naboo clung to their origins.
She passed a HoloNet square full of gathering Naboo. Images from Coruscant flashes over the marble sculptures and deep red blooms. Sabé paused and stared with everyone else as tier upon tier of white armored soldiers filed into enormous, pierce-shaped battleships. A fiery, seemingly blood-bathed sunset blazed over Coruscant, as if foreshadowing the war to come. Remembering the Jedi, Sabé shuddered and hurried on.
As she turned down a narrow, shadowy alley for a shortcut, Sabé sensed someone detach from a darkened doorway. Without changing her pace, Sabé continued up the winding incline, gathering herself, preparing for it.
A scrape of boot on cobblestone . . . the rasp of metal against cloth . . . a quick inhale . . .
Sabé whirled, dropping her bags and unsheathing her vibroblade from her sleeve as a grimy hand fell upon her shoulder. Her attacker missed and started to tumble forward, but Sabé had him against the wall, her blade against his neck, a hip pinning him while her other arm twisted his wrist, disarming him.
"Guh!" he gasped, wild-eyed.
Sabé grimaced against his stinking breath. She pushed her weight into him and glared. By all appearances, this wiry, scraggly-bearded man was one of the few delinquent poor on Naboo. Rather than accept help, some turned to crime, reminding the proud population that their society was not perfect.
Sabé held the astonished mugger for another second, and then swiftly stepped back. He dropped on his knees, gasping and clutching his wrist.
"Get out of here," she snapped.
He didn't need to be told twice. Scrambling, he tried to reach his dropped weapon, but Sabé, lightning-quick, snatched it up. He gave a little squeak and took off down the alley, bumping wildly into a trash compactor.
Sabé watched him for a moment. She should have kept the shadow-game, even in her native clothes. Sighing, she slid her vibroblade back into it the sheath under her sleeve. She inspected the mugger's weapon, and found it to be too worn to be more than a crude weapon anymore. After disposing it in the nearest trash compactor, Sabé picked up her things and continued on her way.
The sun was behind the mountains by the time Sabé reached bay 17. With sleep in mind before she headed for the Lake Country, Sabé sealed the ship and went to the cockpit to close all her communication channels except for her link to Yoda.
She froze.
A small, yellow light flashed on the Naboo channel. The read-out screen message read: Can you keep a secret? Saché Orzkal, Junior Head of Naboo Intelligence.