To Die for the Republic

Part II: In Which Sabé is Alive

Chapter 13: Job

A quick stop at a caf shop and a desperate and slightly terrifying airtaxi ride later, I burst into the Naboo Security Center seven minutes after my start time, my mouth full of scone and my caf so full that it kept spilling onto my hand with every sudden movement. Seeing as I was nearly running, I was fairly convinced that my hand would be red for the next week.

Typho was already waiting in front of my office door, his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed together in disapproval. I slowed myself down to a more dignified walk and swallowed hard behind one hand. His foot tapped on the floor.

"Morning, Captain Typho," I said, walking towards my door briskly in an attempt to appear more professional.

"Handmaiden Reccen," Typho acknowledged me.

I studiously ignored the fluttering in my stomach, reminding myself that whatever had happened the day before had already happened and that my being a few minutes late to our meeting could have no possible effect on the outcome of yesterday's incident. Whatever that incident and that outcome might have been. With that thought firmly in mind, I carefully balanced the rest of my scone atop my caf cup, so that I could enter the code to unlock my door with my other hand.

After two tries, I successfully opened my door. In the process, I had spilled quite a bit of my caf on my hand and nearly dropped my scone. Wincing and attempting (and, if the heat in my cheeks was anything to go by, failing) not to blush, I flipped my sign to let everyone know I was officially in. Depositing my scone and caf on the desk, I shrugged my cloak off, pulled my datapad out of my purse and finally settled down behind my desk.

I made myself smile at Typho as welcomingly as I could, and gestured towards the opposite chair.

He stared at me for a moment with a narrowed eyes. In an attempt to look casual and like I had not been nearly 10 minutes late to work, I took a sip of my caf.

Scowling, he marched across the office and abruptly sat down.

The moment he sat, he began speaking. "Three hours after you left the Senator's apartment yesterday, there was an incident. Senator Amidala and Handmaiden Cordé Telberrie decided to bake a glaze cake."

"They what?" I asked.

I could more easily picture Padmé running down a skywalk naked than I could picture her baking a glaze cake when there was work to be done.

"They decided to bake a cake," he repeated, sounding a little incredulous himself.

"Ah. Of course. Baking a cake. What else would they be doing?" It would appear my daily headache would be making its arrival several hours earlier than usual. "Please continue, Captain."

"After gathering the ingredients, they preheated the oven. While it was preheating, they began to make the cake batter. Apparently, it took them longer than they expected, as they dropped bits of egg shells into their batter and were having difficulty fishing out the shell bits," Typho told me.

I stared at him. Was he really going to talk me through Cordé and Padmé's entire cake baking adventure? Had the incident just been them giving themselves food poisoning from lack of culinary experience? Had one of them accidentally cut themselves while trying to cut the cake? Had they choked on egg shell bits? Why in the galaxy was this relevant?

"While the Senator and Handmaiden Telberrie were attempting to remove the egg shells from their batter, the oven finished preheating. Then it exploded."

"What?"

"The explosion was strong enough to scorch the cabinets on the other side of the kitchen and both women were thrown backwards."

"Wait, what?"

"Handmaiden Telberrie sustained a concussion and was taken to the medcenter, but Senator Amidala was uninjured," Typho continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Handmaiden Telberrie will be released from the medcenter later this afternoon. Handmaiden Versé Hokana agreed to take her shift this morning."

My thoughts were racing. This didn't make any sense.

"The Senatorial Apartment Curators just had a new oven installed because the old ones were faulty," I told him. "Did they inst—"

"Dormé said she supervised the installation last week," Typho interrupted.

"So was there just a problem with the installation? Or with the oven?" I asked.

"The peace officers think so. However, after they left, Guard Picalo Rithen found a piece of debris that resembled a timer from a micro-delay-bomb, which would be consistent with the intensity of the explosion. Specialist Misaki will be looking at the possible timer and the rest of the debris sometime today to see if he can confirm the presence of a bomb."

"But—" I stared at him a little helplessly. "That doesn't make any sense. The oven was installed a week ago! If someone had planted a bomb, why wouldn't it have exploded earlier? Why now? Unless," I was thinking aloud at this point, "it was only wired to explode when the oven was used, but that doesn't make any sense either. It's practically common knowledge that Padmé doesn't cook—she has food sent up from the Senatorial Apartments' chef or she goes out to eat. She never uses the oven—no one uses this oven! It's sheer, dumb, bad luck that it exploded at all! Why in the galaxy would they—" I cut myself off.

Typho was looking distinctly unimpressed.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

Two speeder incidents, 'food' poisoning and now a possible oven-bomb, of all things. Most of the time, people attempting to commit murder had an M.O. and stuck with it. So far, with Padmé, the would-be-murderer had utilized three different methods. Unless, of course, we weren't actually facing assassination attempts and it was all just a string of incredibly bizarre and frustrating coincidences. But no one could be that unlucky. And if it was sheer chance that the identification tags were wrong on both of the speeders that had nearly killed Padmé, I would eat one of her headdresses.

But that didn't change the fact that none of this was making any sense. Why would there be three different—unless—

"Do you think she has an illegal bounty on her head?"

If Padmé had a bounty on her head, there could any number of bounty hunters on her tail, which would explain the inconsistency of the methods.

Typho stared at me for a moment before slowing nodding. "It is a possibility. However, I think it's more likely that it's merely one person, who is attempting to make her death look like an accident."

"But the three different—"

"All of the incidents appeared to be accidental. While normally a killer has a pattern that he sticks to, it doesn't necessarily mean he always kills in the same way. If his goal was to make it appear as though the Senator's death was merely a tragic accident, it would make sense for him to utilize a variety of different methods while attempting to achieve his goal," Typho said.

"Alright, fair enough. But if the killer actually got into the apartment, why would he set a micro-timer bomb in the oven? Why wouldn't he just plant a larger bomb and make it look like a gas leak or something?" I asked.

This wasn't making any sense.

"It wasn't exactly a secret that the oven was defective," Typho pointed out. "They probably thought it would seem more realistic if that was what exploded. If there was a gas problem, it would throw the safety of the entire Senatorial Apartment Complex into question and would probably result in a large scale investigation."

"Which would be just what the killer wouldn't want," I slowly agreed. "But—an oven bomb?"

Typho shot me a very exasperated look. "Maybe it wasn't a bomb. There could have been a mistake with the oven installation. We won't find out until later today and I don't see the point in further speculation until it's confirmed either way. To be honest, Reccen, I'm more concerned about how you're going to protect the Senator during the rally."

I blinked at him. "What? Why?"

Typho began to drum his fingers on my desk, glowering. "The rally, Reccen. The Defeat the Act rally is happening in three days and the Defeat the Act Planetary Tour is happening in five. If someone really is trying to kill the Senator, that would be the perfect opportunity for them to—"

"But why?" I interrupted. "This person clearly has already found a way to access the Senator's apartment as well as her personal schedule, otherwise how would they have set the bomb or known where to try and run her over? The rally is almost the worst place for them to try and attack. I mean, yes, it's a public venue, but it's going to be swarming with security and potential eye-witnesses. If they've got such a good idea of what her daily schedule is like and they're trying to pass this off as an accident, why would they chose such a public place to make their next attempt? The same goes for the tour. Admittedly, we'll be a little more out of our comfort zone with security while on other planets, but it'll almost certainly be more public and have more security than the Senator has during a normal day."

Typho's mouth tightened. "The Senator has nearly died four times now. Do you really want to take the chance of—"

"Of course not!" I snapped. "I just don't think the rally or the tour ought to be our focus at the moment. Someone is out there trying to kill Senator Amidala and has shown themselves to be familiar with her schedule and also able to gain access to her apartment. Don't you think we ought to be focusing on catching this person so that they can't—"

Through gritted teeth, Typho said, "Of course. But, as I said, until we receive the results of Specialist Misaki's analysis, we need to focus on the rally and the tour."

"I disagree. I really think we ought to focus on tightening her daily security. The rally isn't for another three days and the tour isn't for another five days. We have to make sure she survives until then. Besides, all of the attempts have taken place while the Senator was merely going about her daily business. None of the attempts have happened during a public—"

"Senator Amidala has not had a public event since this mess started!" Typho interrupted. "There is no way of—"

He wasn't even listening to me!

"If they're trying to make it look like an accident, then the rally is not—"

"After four attempts, they could be getting impatient enough to not care if it looks like an accident. Which is why—"

"If they didn't care about making it look like an accident after four attempts, why, when they had access to her apartment, did they still care enough to—"

The meeting only deteriorated from there.

We argued about what we ought to do to protect Padmé at the rally.

"Fine!" I snapped. "Fine, if you're so determined to talk about the rally first, we'll talk about the rally first! How, exactly, do you think we should protect the Senator at the rally, Captain?"

"That's your job, Handmaiden! You should be telling me how we're going to protect her!"

"Excuse me?" I spluttered. "My job? It's our job! I have only three other people to help me protect her in the event of an emergency. You have the entire Guard! You should—"

"As head handmaiden, it's your job to—"

We argued about how to protect her over the course of an ordinary day.

"What do you mean it was a stupid idea? What's so stupid about ensuring that the Senator has extra guards to look after her?" I demanded.

"It was incredibly short-sighted! Did you even consider—"

We argued about whether I should have told him about the possible assassination attempts earlier.

"—should have told me what was going on instead of acting like a fool and trying to handle it on your own!" Typho raged

"The Senator ordered me not to! What was I supposed to do? Ignore her wishes?" I demanded, shooting to my feet.

"You do when it comes to everything else!" Typho knocked his chair over in his haste to stand up.

We argued about Panaka.

"—my uncle that—" Typho roared.

"Oh! Oh, that's just perfect! Must you always bring Panaka into this? I haven't even seen the man in almost—"

We argued about my punctuality and my professionalism (or lack thereof).

"—never on time to even the most important meetings!" Typho ranted. "Furthermore, you don't use the Senator's title half the time and take shameless advantage of the fact that Senator Amidala—for the gods only know what reason—considers you her friend! You don't even—"

We argued about his infatuation with Padmé.

"—pathetic! You can't even talk to her without mooning over her!" I sneered. "It's a wonder you can protect her at all, considering how much time you spend staring at her a—"

We argued about the state of my wardrobe.

"—always wrinkled! You have more stains on your skirts than—"

We argued about his personal hygiene (or lack thereof).

"—constantly smelling like that completely ridiculous aftershave! As if that would cover up—"

And, finally, we argued about how much we were arguing.

"This clearly isn't working! We've spent the last two—" I swore, "—hours arguing about our personal problems!"

"I am aware of that, Reccen! Do you think I'm an imbecile?" Typho roared.

"No! You think I am and that's the problem! I can't work with someone who thinks I'm brain dead!" I flung my hand out to the side and leaned across the desk.

We were standing directly across from one another and were leaning into each other's personal space, so as to be more intimidating. Both of us were breathing hard from our prolonged shouting match. For a moment, we just glared at one another. Typho did not deny my accusation and I could practically feel my blood pressure rising.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt…"

My head snapped towards the voice and Typo spun around to get a better look.

A tall burly man wearing the uniform of the Naboo guard hovered near the doorway, a twisted piece of metal clenched in his hands.

Typho sucked in a long breath.

"Not at all, Misaki. You've finished your analysis?" Typho asked, sounding disgustingly calm.

"Um. Yes. I—can I come in?" he asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his dark eyes darting between Typho and me nervously, as though he thought one of us would suddenly attack him.

"Of course you can," I said, hurrying to the other side of the desk and quickly bending down to the pick up the chair that Typho had knocked to the ground. "Please, have a seat."

My heart was still pounding furiously and I could feel the heat in my face, but I made myself give Specialist Misaki something resembling a smile as he very slowly walked into my office.

With Typho and me watching, he gingerly lowered himself into the chair, looking like he thought it might collapse beneath him at any moment.

"What did you find? Was it a bomb?" Typho asked the moment that he did sit down.

"Uh, well, it's not quite as…um…conclusive as we may like. It has a number of markings," Misaki spun the piece of metal around in his hands, pointing to several places on the metal that looked exactly the same as everything else to me, "that indicate that it is the timer for a MDB—micro-delay bomb—but it looks like it was welded into the oven so, well. If it went off—and it kind of looks like it didn't go off? So I don't—anyway, if it went off, it must have been put inside the oven sometime before the installation of the oven into the apartment. Well, unless, they brought in wielding equipment with them which would have been a little—anyway. Basically, it looks like a MDB, put into the oven before the oven was installed into the apartment that may or may not have gone off." Misaki shifted in his chair, balanced the metal hunk on his knee and scratched the back of his head. "Uh, can I go now? That's, um, that's all I have."

"Yes. Go," Typho said, frowning as he began to pace my office.

"Thanks, Specialist Misaki. We appreciate your help," I smiled as I opened the door for him. During his brief explanation, I had felt my anger slowly slipping away. Typho and I did not have time to argue with one another. We should be focusing on Padmé.

The specialist ducked his head, muttered something under his breath and rushed off. I shut the door and turned to look at Typho.

"Well. That's different," I ventured cautiously.

Typho snorted. "That's putting it mildly."

"Right. Well." I glanced at the clock. I still had an hour before I had to leave for class at the university. I had wanted to speak to Padmé before I left, but it looked like I would have to put it off until tomorrow. Typho and I had a lot to get done in only an hour. "I suppose we can start talking about the rally first, move onto the daily protection afterward and then talk about the Defeat the Act Planetary Tour."

Typho blinked at me, looking taken aback. "Thank you, Handmaiden Reccen. I would appreciate that."

"Of course, Captain," I forced myself to say calmly. "Now, how do you think we should begin?"

"Well—"

The rest of my day went surprisingly smoothly. Even my university classes seemed to go well. That night, though, I arrived home to see a note from Anakin on my kitchen table. It said that he appreciated my offer to let him stay but that he was returning to the Temple, like I'd suggested. He made no mention of his dreams and made no mention of how I could contact him on his comlink.

Expected Update Time: Hopefully before March 3rd. Definitely before March 31st. (Painful Honesty Time: The next chapter is already being a pain in the butt to write and I started back at school this week, so, I'm going to try, but I'll be stunned if I actually manage to post anything in February or early March. Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised though)