Forever blue the sky above
And suns burn bright
And my fields yield only blight
I eat hunger, day and night
Lingering here living of spite
Tatooine folk song
Anonymous
The annals speak about a long-lasting strife on the planet of Grizmallt that eventually resulted in a bloody revolution, almost costing the reigning Queen her throne and her life. A massive exodus followed soon afterwards, marking a tragic milestone of Grizmalltian history. One of the exiled was prince Kwilaan the Scout.
The commonly accepted story of his and his household's journey unfortunately cannot be confirmed, since during the revolution most of the data storages were destroyed. Nevertheless, the tradition provides us a tale about his flight from his ancestral home, accompanied by his five wives and seven loyal knights.
Hasyarvayadi and Daryatari: The Origin of Naboo Cultural Identity
Fahradjad Veruna
III ECHO AND PROGENY
A GIANT BLACK CLAD DROID stalked him throughout the blindingly white corridors. Anakin could not scream for help. He could only run, run, run. The droid never stopped. Never spoke. It followed him as if they were tethered with a chain. Every time he dared to hope he was finally safe, the strange wheezing sound echoed from behind the corner, and Anakin knew that if the droid found him, it would kill him like it killed the other children. He wanted to sob, to cry for his mom, for anyone, to help him. He snuck into a cabinet to let the dark protect him.
How long he waited he did not know. When he emerged from the cabinet, sand swirled around his ankles. Merciless suns burned into his skin, and Nana Ariaaru knelt on her knees, a pile of bleached white bones and the vast desert surrounding her. She turned her scaly face to Anakin, her eyes yellow, her voice child-like. "There are too many of them. What are we going to do?" Before he could answer, a heavy gloved hand grabbed his shoulder, and his guts turned into ice.
He opened his mouth in a silent scream.
His little bedroom was shrouded in darkness. Thin sheen of sweat covered his skin and his throat felt scratchy.
"It was just a dream," he whispered to himself. He sat up, trembling a little.
He blinked. A dark silhouette stood in the doorway. It did not disappear like the night terrors he used to have when he was a little kid.
"Mom?"
But it was not his mom, Anakin realized. The shadow was too tall, the shoulders too wide. He remembered his nightmare, and a freezing hot shiver run down his spine.
"Mom?" he sobbed, but his voice was pathetically squeaky. "Mom? Someone's here!"
"Anakin." The shadow spoke.
"Go away!" He wheezed. "We don't have anything! Don't hurt Mom, please. Go away!"
"Anakin."
With a buzzing sound, a bright blue light filled his bedroom. The first few seconds Anakin could not see anything, so blindingly bright it was. In awe, Anakin looked at the tall young man wielding the lightsabre.
"Are you a Jedi? Will you save us?"
The man smiled. It was a soft, sad smile.
"Soon."
And Anakin was alone in his dark room again.
. . .
NABOO FUNDS COLLAPSE
The last month has been disastrous for Naboo, and its enterprises due to the boycott by the Trade Federation. The dispute over the shipping tariffs and goods taxation lead to the Federation's decision to participate no longer in any business with Naboo and freeze their accounts. Consequently, the stocks of Naboo enterprises plummeted, and the experts estimate that unless their government takes a direct action, their export-based economy may collapse. Senator Sheev Palpatine, the representative of the Naboo system, informs The Coruscant Journal that his planet faces difficult times, and warns that there might be mass layoffs and recession. "Such outcome of this situation might negatively impact surrounding sectors."
According to our sources, workers in industrial towns have been protesting since the start of the crisis. Many voices call for the removal of the current Naboo government. Aprahya Kavranjashri, the Minister of Commerce, dismisses the workers' rallies as a provocation and intimidation tactic from the Trade Federation.
. . .
The Chancellor's office was empty bar the man in question. His black silhouette contrasted against the bright Coruscanti skyline. Finis Valorum stood at the broad window, his back facing the two Jedi. The door closed with a clacking sound and Master Qui-Gon stepped forwards.
"Chancellor."
"Master Jinn. Padawan. Take your seats, please."
When the Chancellor turned to them, he pursed his lips, as if the mere notion of dealing with the issue on their hands was thoroughly unappealing to him, Obi-Wan mused.
"Thank you for coming. I presume you are familiar with the new Commercial Hyperdrive Tax Bill." Valorum settled into his armchair. "We expected problems. The mere suggestion was enough to cause an uproar in the Senate."
"The Trade Federation?" Qui-Gon said.
"Who else? They are in control of half of the systems beyond the Colonies. Of course, they were behind the protests. But it was necessary. They bled the Mid and Outer rim dry." He paused. "Naboo system is not the only one that is currently being extorted by the Federation. But it is the one powering the Chommel sector hyperdrive lanes."
"You want us to mediate."
"That would be preferable, Master Jedi. But I am under no illusion that the Federation would be open to any negotiation, especially since they are technically not doing anything illegal. As far as we know." The Chancellor paused again, this time with a nervous tick in his face. "To be honest, the Senate has not been informed about your mission. For obvious reasons."
"I understand."
"Good. Officially, you are to mediate between the Naboo government and the Federation. Unofficially, you will gather evidence."
. . .
Nute Gunray spent most of his days in his windowless office. He had made enough enemies he had long since given up the luxury of aesthetics. It was a small price to pay for his survival. Some enterprising bounty hunter would surely try to earn their coin with a bullet shot through a window.
According to the last stock market reports, his move against Naboo paid off as predicted – and promised. But it was not fast enough. Not humiliating enough.
After all, the Trade Federation dealt with many goods. Food and fuel. Ships and computers and medical equipment. Information. Connections. Respect.
On remote planets, the Federation's outposts were often the sole reminders of civilisation and order. The Galactic republic prided itself of its accomplishments, but in hubris it forgot the necessary contributions of the Federation. Where their fancy diplomats failed, embargo quickly convinced the savages to kindly reconsider.
Sometimes, bartering away their worlds' riches was the only path to survival, and the Federation's bank accounts grew.
No one refused magnanimous offers of the Trade Federation. It was a matter of prestige.
"Deep in your thoughts, Viceroy?" A smooth voice echoed in the room. Gunray jumped in his seat at the sight of a red-and-black Zabrak swallowed in heavy robes.
"Where…? Who…?" Gunray yelped. "Guards!"
"They've let me in," the Zabrak said. He walked slowly towards the desk, like a nexu on a hunt. "There's no need to panic. You ought to listen since I come with a great offer." The stranger leaned on the desk, lazily. "I know my patron has already contacted you."
The Viceroy stared at the intruder in shock, his hand hovering above the panic button under the desk. The uninvited guest knew about the message he had received shortly after the Naboo embargo. The Viceroy swallowed, nervously. This was a thin ice he was treading on. One misstep and his enterprise could shatter like a glasshouse. He withdrew his hand, straightening his back.
"Contacted, yes. But your patron was not exactly clear what the offer was about, Mr…?" The mysterious entity behind the short message intrigued the Viceroy, but he was not a naïve tadpole to believe every glamorous tale.
The Zabrak smiled.
"Maul. My patron is a member of a powerful senatorial clique. As a man of public interest yourself, you understand the need for privacy."
"Yes, that's true. But they offered me no way to make sure they are what they claim to be."
"I guess that is the risk you need to take." Maul's yellow eyes bore into his. "Though, my patron didn't send me with empty promises, Viceroy. You will see he is very… generous to causes he believes."
As he said that, the Zabrak pulled out from the many folds of his robes a small box.
"We know what you offered to Naboo. We agree that the world is in a dire need of your intervention. But in order to do that you need a leverage."
He opened the box. Inside were two data chips.
"Embargos can be worked around. A complete blockade… Well, that's a whole different situation, isn't it?" Maul barred his teeth in a smile. "Those chips contain the security codes to the Naboo hyperspace port. I'm sure your Federation can come up with creative applications… Legal, of course."
"Of course." Gunray reached for the box. Who would have thought that a key to a whole planet would fit into such a small container? "I will verify the authenticity with my technicians. Meanwhile, you're welcome to stay."
Maul nodded. "My patron will contact you directly."
"Good. Good." Gunray hummed absentmindedly. He promised Amidala her world would join the Associates Pact.
The Trade Federation always delivered.
Legally, of course.
. . .
"I am Kwilaan once again, the wanderer said. And this land given to us shall be our new home. Lost among the stars we were, mere moments from committing a terrible crime against the flesh of our kin. Gods blessed us with the new hope. And thus, Hope shall be this paradise! A-Nabuah I call thee for ages to come, my home, my hope, my grave and grave of my kin!"
The Queen recited from the ancient book, and her voice echoed in the cavern-temple. Naboo did not worship their gods in man-made edifices. They found divinity in the caves carved by elements throughout eras. They did not bow before sculptures. Instead, stalagmites adorned with symbols of their gods represented their likeness. The Five graces who give life its meaning. The faceless Three, who were, who are and who will be. The Twins, who are enemies and lovers. The One, a narrow stream flowing snakelike between the rocks into a well in the centre of the cave.
Red and gold sunset reflected in the surface of the well, as the ceiling of the cavern opened in the highest point. At nights, the well mirrored the night sky, the moons, the stars. When it rained, the well turned grey as in grief.
She looked at her people. Their faces were mirrors as well. She knew their worries. She knew they feared for their livelihoods. She knew they blamed her, at least partially, for their uncertain future. Bahavat, the Day of Landing, should be a day of laughter and little cakes shaped like shaaks filled with date syrup. Her people should celebrate and dance with their loved ones, careless for at least one night, like their forebears had done when they had found their new home after months of dread and hunger.
A-Nabuah, she wanted to say. Keep hoping, my people. But she did not say that. She kept to the ancient rite, kneeling at the feet of the well to drink from the Void. Her hair fell down her face like curtains. Her lips touched the cold water, and she closed her eyes, letting the water fill her mouth. The Void they called the well. Only the child-Queen could drink from it.
When she sat up, her back straight as an arrow, she met with the sight of two of her handmaidens standing at the entrance.
Her loyal shadows stood there until the end of the service. As the worshippers left the cavern, the handmaidens slipped through the crowd to reach her. Yané and Rabé took their places to her sides.
"Your highness," Yané whispered.
"The Chancellor has answered," Rabé said. "Bibble sent us to let you know."
The Queen exhaled with relief. "That's wonderful. I was afraid he would ignore the message."
The three girls hurled out of the cave, with far less gravitas than the occasion and the place demanded. Neither paid any mind to the fact that they had spectators. Amidala gathered her long flowing skirts to run across the lawn towards the palace.
The evening air was sweet and smelled of nilaani flowers. They were always in bloom at the time of Bahavat.
The air-raid sirens started to howl.