Chapter 2: Saché
Saché Obarao cursed the day that she had chosen to come to Coruscant, or excuse her, [i]Imperial Center,[/i] as it was now called, and join Palpatine's Court as a "loyal" member of the Empire. The Empire that had destroyed the Republic she had known. The Empire that had destroyed the life of her Lady. The Empire which had separated her from her "sisters." The Empire that had ruined the life of Saché Obarao and given birth to Salla Tarrai, the loyal, young, beautiful, yet mindless member of Palpatine's Court.
It had pained her to think of her Lady living in poverty while she was in the lap of luxury. Of course, she wasn't in the Court for her own enjoyment.
No, she was a spy for the Senator from Chandrila, Mon Mothma. The young Senator was one of the three leaders of a secret rebellion, Garm bel Iblis from Corellia, and Bail Organa of Alderaan being the other two.
Mothma had tracked Saché down approximately three and a half years ago. Apparently, "handmaiden" on your resume meant a lot more to some than it did for others. It was a dangerous job, the Senator had made no secret of that. If she was caught, she'd be tried and duly executed. The only thing they had to decide was how her death was to come about.
But she didn't have time for these thoughts at the moment. Instead, she needed to be concentrating on memorizing the people at the Emperor's table. Amidala had once said that Saché had one of the best memories that she'd ever encountered. And now, she was putting it to good use here on Corellia.
She smoothed down the fabric of her pale yellow dress and fanned herself with a hand. If anything, these little gatherings could cause you to lose about ten pounds just through sweat. She caught sight of several young men sending flirtatious looks her way, though none yet had yet gotten the stomach to get up and go over to ask her to dance.
Her dress, as she had said, was made of a stunning yellow fabric, much like the shade and type that one of her old handmaiden robes had been made of. The dress was daringly low, as was the fashion now, and the straps crisscrossed all the way down her back to meet at the fabric edge. There was a slit in the skirt part that ran up to her knee and her hair was placed in such a fashion that it would've made Rabé proud.
As she waited for one of the truly mindless courtiers to ask her to dance, she cast her gaze around the room, observing the Corellian Security, CorSec for short, Officers placed in guard positions around the room, two at every doorway.
One pair, a man and a woman, caught her eye in particular. The man had something familiar in the way he stood and held himself that reminded her of the Jedi and the woman looked strangely familiar. In fact, so familiar that her name was on the tip of Saché's tongue, yet it could not be paired with its owner. Finally, one of the young men got up his courage and asked her to dance. Seeing him be accepted, the others' courage was rallied and each took his dance with "Lady Salla" and then reluctantly passed her on to the next waiting partner.
About two standard hours later, Saché finally managed to excuse herself from the crowd of young men, pleading aching feet, She stood by the entrance where the two CorSec who had caught her eye were posted, sipping a drink. She looked at the woman's face more carefully. And then, it hit her.
"Eirtaé? Eirtaé Bukoro?"
The woman tensed up and her grip on her blaster grew tighter. "You've got the wrong person, Lady Salla. My name is Zena Denes."
The man, Hal Horn according to his badge, looked strangely at her, as if she had gone mad.
Saché frowned slightly. She knew that this woman was her old friend and fellow handmaiden Eirtaé. And then, she remembered. Eirtaé was in CorSec and supposedly serving under an assumed name. If this "Zena" was in CorSec, than she would "know" Eirtaé.
"Well, if you should by chance see my friend, tell her that her sister Sché sends her greetings and the One is still safe at the current residence," she watched the other carefully and finally managed to catch a flicker of recognition appear briefly before it disappeared once more. Well, she had done her best and if Eirtaé didn't respond now, than she never would.
"If I see your friend, than she'll be in the Space Trader at 0900 tomorrow," Zena finally replied.
Hiding her exaltation, Saché nodded and moved on, allowing herself to be swept away by a new partner.
Tomorrow, at 0900, she'd meet with Eirtaé once more.
Saché Obarao cursed the day that she had chosen to come to Coruscant, or excuse her, [i]Imperial Center,[/i] as it was now called, and join Palpatine's Court as a "loyal" member of the Empire. The Empire that had destroyed the Republic she had known. The Empire that had destroyed the life of her Lady. The Empire which had separated her from her "sisters." The Empire that had ruined the life of Saché Obarao and given birth to Salla Tarrai, the loyal, young, beautiful, yet mindless member of Palpatine's Court.
It had pained her to think of her Lady living in poverty while she was in the lap of luxury. Of course, she wasn't in the Court for her own enjoyment.
No, she was a spy for the Senator from Chandrila, Mon Mothma. The young Senator was one of the three leaders of a secret rebellion, Garm bel Iblis from Corellia, and Bail Organa of Alderaan being the other two.
Mothma had tracked Saché down approximately three and a half years ago. Apparently, "handmaiden" on your resume meant a lot more to some than it did for others. It was a dangerous job, the Senator had made no secret of that. If she was caught, she'd be tried and duly executed. The only thing they had to decide was how her death was to come about.
But she didn't have time for these thoughts at the moment. Instead, she needed to be concentrating on memorizing the people at the Emperor's table. Amidala had once said that Saché had one of the best memories that she'd ever encountered. And now, she was putting it to good use here on Corellia.
She smoothed down the fabric of her pale yellow dress and fanned herself with a hand. If anything, these little gatherings could cause you to lose about ten pounds just through sweat. She caught sight of several young men sending flirtatious looks her way, though none yet had yet gotten the stomach to get up and go over to ask her to dance.
Her dress, as she had said, was made of a stunning yellow fabric, much like the shade and type that one of her old handmaiden robes had been made of. The dress was daringly low, as was the fashion now, and the straps crisscrossed all the way down her back to meet at the fabric edge. There was a slit in the skirt part that ran up to her knee and her hair was placed in such a fashion that it would've made Rabé proud.
As she waited for one of the truly mindless courtiers to ask her to dance, she cast her gaze around the room, observing the Corellian Security, CorSec for short, Officers placed in guard positions around the room, two at every doorway.
One pair, a man and a woman, caught her eye in particular. The man had something familiar in the way he stood and held himself that reminded her of the Jedi and the woman looked strangely familiar. In fact, so familiar that her name was on the tip of Saché's tongue, yet it could not be paired with its owner. Finally, one of the young men got up his courage and asked her to dance. Seeing him be accepted, the others' courage was rallied and each took his dance with "Lady Salla" and then reluctantly passed her on to the next waiting partner.
About two standard hours later, Saché finally managed to excuse herself from the crowd of young men, pleading aching feet, She stood by the entrance where the two CorSec who had caught her eye were posted, sipping a drink. She looked at the woman's face more carefully. And then, it hit her.
"Eirtaé? Eirtaé Bukoro?"
The woman tensed up and her grip on her blaster grew tighter. "You've got the wrong person, Lady Salla. My name is Zena Denes."
The man, Hal Horn according to his badge, looked strangely at her, as if she had gone mad.
Saché frowned slightly. She knew that this woman was her old friend and fellow handmaiden Eirtaé. And then, she remembered. Eirtaé was in CorSec and supposedly serving under an assumed name. If this "Zena" was in CorSec, than she would "know" Eirtaé.
"Well, if you should by chance see my friend, tell her that her sister Sché sends her greetings and the One is still safe at the current residence," she watched the other carefully and finally managed to catch a flicker of recognition appear briefly before it disappeared once more. Well, she had done her best and if Eirtaé didn't respond now, than she never would.
"If I see your friend, than she'll be in the Space Trader at 0900 tomorrow," Zena finally replied.
Hiding her exaltation, Saché nodded and moved on, allowing herself to be swept away by a new partner.
Tomorrow, at 0900, she'd meet with Eirtaé once more.