Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or anything related to Star Wars. Nothing. Nada.
AN: Working fast and furious to get these last few chapters edited and up, only 3-4 more to go!
Chapter 10
Sabé stumbles over hem of her dress, the shoes catching in the frills.
Silently cursing, she straightens up, untangles her heel from the hem, then hurries down the hall, gripping a set of combs she'd had to dig out of storage.
They'd woken early to help Padmé get ready for her trip, then dress themselves in their respective roles.
It's nothing short of a disaster, doing intricate hair and make up for not just one but two women. It had been easier when there's been a whole host of handmaidens. It makes Sabé appreciate Eirtaé and all her incessant training. At least there's been a method to the madness.
Now it's just madness.
Saché throws a pair of shoes at Dormé, then a corset, while Sabé tosses the combs into one of the bags.
"Hold still," Dormé grunts at Padmé as she puts the final touches on her hair. "The book said this was a simple style..."
Sabé winces on Padmé's behalf as her head is jerked around. Not that Padmé notices. She's absorbed in her datapad, going over votes and sending messages to the Alderaanian Senator.
Looking in the mirror at her own hair and appearance, Sabé grimaces.
It's nowhere near as elaborate as the dress she had worn during the crisis on Naboo all those years ago, but it exudes power and confidence. Just overwhelming enough that no one will notice the small difference that the girl wearing it is not the Senator.
Adjusting the veil Saché has just thrust in her hand, Sabé turns back to the conversation.
"We're still leaving first?" She hears Saché ask.
"Yes, as soon as the Jedi arrive," Dormé answers, smiling as she finally finishes Padmé's hair.
Padmé gets up to finish her packing, so the sisters make their way to the main room to greet their guests when they arrive.
Saché collapses into one of the chairs, pulls off one of her heels and begins rubbing her already sore feet.
"Why can't flats be in fashion?" She complains.
Sabé slumps into the seat beside her, brushes the veil away and massaging her temples to ease the headache her headdress has given her. Silently, she wills the Jedi to get there quickly. She wants nothing but for the whole production to be done, get Padmé to safety and herself to Senator Organa's office for a moment of rest.
"Are the two of you ready?" Typho asks as he hurries in, Obi-wan and Anakin following close behind him.
"As ever," Saché answers, pulling Sabé up.
Typho nods.
"Your sister and yourself will go to Senator Organa's and stay there until the afternoon, then return here. Dormé and I will come back and then the two of you will be able to go about your normal business."
"How long will Dormé have to play Senator?" Sabé asks, holding the back of the chair for support.
Not for very long, hopefully. When a session is called she won't be able to vote. Besides that, the more she's out, the greater the likelihood someone will notice she's not Padmé.
Judging by Saché's stance, she's got the same concerns.
"Only a few days, just until the Senator is safely back on Naboo and hidden," Typho tells them.
"Don't see one hole in that plan at all," Saché grumbles.
"Have you got a better one?" Typho growls. "Because if you do, by all means, feel free to share."
Saché smiles, fixing Typho in a narrow look.
"I only get paid to point out problems, fixing them is above my skill set I'm told."
Typho looks ready to argue with her, but get cut off by Obi-wan's chuckling.
"I'm happy to see your charms aren't always wasted on me, Saché."
Typho sighs. "No, she's been a delight since the day I met her."
Saché feigns offense before giving Typho a grin.
"What would you do without me, Gregar?"
He chuckles. "Have fewer arguments."
Padmé finally appears, still grim faced, glancing between the sisters before pulling them both into a hug.
"Be safe."
"Don't be so melodramatic Padmé," Saché grumbles. "We'll be fine."
Padmé makes a face.
They're her oldest friends and she knows the risk they're taking. It's the risk Cordé and Versé had taken only days before, and the memory of their last moments is haunting Padmé.
She's terrified this is the last time she'll see them alive, and there's no guarantee it isn't.
Pulling back, Padmé sniffles then forces a smile.
"I know you will," she lies.
Please don't die on me, she wants to say, but keeps the worry inside.
Cutting Saché a look, Sabé knows she's seeing the same thing.
"Remember, while you're there, ask about hazard pay," Saché tells her, the picture of seriousness.
She doesn't want Padmé worrying about what she can't change, and a stupid joke is the only thing she has to offer. And it works.
Padmé's smile brightens and she rolls her eyes.
"I'll schedule it in."
The moment of levity is enough to ease Padmé some as Typho ushers the sisters out.
"Be careful," Obi-wan warns them, his smile vanished. "Both of you."
Nodding, Sabé holds her head up and pulls her veil down, follows Saché out the door to begin their charade, and hopes the stars are inclined to keep them all safe.
The day passes uneventfully, with the exception of the watching the poor delivery droid getting interrogated by the overzealous Senate guard.
Saché is so amused by the ordeal she orders three more times before they're escorted back to the apartment.
"What do you plan on doing with all this food?" The Senator asked, eying the many containers stacking up in his office.
Shrugging, Saché nibbled on a bit of protein loaf.
"I'm not sure." She'd looked at Sabé. "Where's the Scipio offices? I think I'll hide some of the more pungent stuff in their ceiling panels."
Senator Organa refused to let her, but Saché had vanished to the bathroom shortly after that, and Sabé noticed several of the containers were gone.
After passing the decoy job off to a tearful Dormé, the sisters depart for Malastare where they spend the first days watching the prime source of entertainment, podracing.
"This is awful," Sabé gasps, taking off her viewing goggles after the latest wreck.
"I can't figure out how any of them survive," Saché adds, flinching as she leans in, watching the casualty being cut out of his pod before taking them off and turning to Sabé. "Any prospects?"
They've found woefully little to pass on to Padmé during this trip. Other than fixed races and dirty card games, Malastare is a bust information wise.
While she doesn't see any possibilities, Saché obviously does.
Saché freezes in place, her movements indicating she's spotted something she finds exciting.
"What?"
"Those two!" She grins, inclining her head to a corner of the club. "Really? After last time you'd think he'd be more careful."
Sabé follows her sister's gaze to a pair groping in a booth. It's a little obscene, even in a club.
It's a Quarren, a fellow aide, and an orange Twi'lek.
For a moment Sabé simply stares, then she grins.
Exchanging a satisfied look with Saché, the sisters take off, sidestepping their way around waiters and casually rebuffing flirts.
They slide into both sides of the booth, cutting off any escape routes.
Saché snatches up the Quarren's neglected drink and tosses it back before grinning.
"Miss me, Prille?"
The Quarren rolls his eyes in disgust, the tentacles on his face quivering in agitation "Kriff, not you two again."
"Yes us, again," Saché looks around him, at the Twi'lek. "Prille, sweetness, whois your little friend? What would your delegation think? You necking it with a Twi'lek."
Prille's color changes, from a vivid red to a much darker shade, before leaning into the Twi'lek and telling her to leave under his breath.
Her giggly person evaporates, replaced by an almost bored expression as she crawls under the table and saunters away, latching onto a Kiffar moments later.
Looking irritated at losing his companion, Prille makes a frustrated noise before leaning in and growling, "What do you want? You nearly lost me my job."
"But we didn't. Nobody connects you with what happened with your darling Senator," Saché reminds him, reaching past him and taking the Twi'lek's drink and sipping it. "And don't think too much of yourself. You were hardly the only snitch."
The Quarren's tentacles shudder with an agitated breath, "Why are you here?"
Sabé gestures over her shoulder, toward the increasingly drunk and rowdy table of delegates they'd accompanied.
"Gaming commission. Our Senator's on it and wanted an eyewitness account of how the games are run here." She sets back in the seat, fixing him in a glare. "If you bothered with your own job you'd know that."
He's supposedly on the Gaming commission too.
"And that requires you to harass me and my, ah, acquaintances, why?"
Sabé rolls her eyes.
Prille is, as Padmé had so kindly described him, 'a disgusting low-life who would sell his own mother if it saved his skin'.
Sabé doubts saving his skin would even factor into the equation. A sufficient bribe of a single credit would do with Prille.
Vile as he is, he's still seful.
He'd provided them with immensely valuable information on several corrupt senators regarding a slaving ring, operating off his home planet no less. That information had hardly been handed over with a smile.
Saché, with her knack for sniffing out people in compromising situations, had several disks of Prille and a rather flexible Twi'lek doing what she would only describe as 'educational…for a porn star'.
If not for the rather xenophobic tendencies of his species, Saché's foray into freelance film making would have been pointless.
With a little gentle persuasion though, the not so subtle threat that his affair would be leaked to The Nova and end his career if he didn't help them, the Quarran had quietly handed over information on his senator's dealings and the involvement of several other. In exchange, Saché had promised she'd never reveal his indiscretion.
She'd said nothing about Sabé spilling the beans, an omission he'd failed to notice during their negotiations. His oversight provided them with a lovely loophole should they ever need it.
"Because we need something." Sabé eyes him in disgust. "We wouldn't associate with a low life like you otherwise."
"What's the ex-Senator doing these days? Eating his own young?" Saché asks, leaning in with a wicked grin.
Prille sneers, his tentacles twitching.
"As if I would know," he mutters.
"I think you would," Sabé tells him.
His tentacles twitch slightly. He definitely know something.
"And what, may I ask, would I get for telling you anything? Assuming, of course, I do know anything."
Sabé looks at Saché.
They haven't got much in the way of bribes.
The fixed race? Saché wordlessly asks.
Sabé doubts it's impressive enough for Prille, but agrees with Saché. It's worth a shot. If that fails, they know a brothel that would cater to his apparent specific tastes rather well.
Leaning in, Sabé beacons him in.
"The race tomorrow is being fixed by several of the racers and pitmen. You tell us what you know and we tell you who will win tomorrow."
As expected, the Quarran doesn't look terribly impressed, but considers the offer none the less.
He pulls out his datapad, quite obviously checking his bank account. The irksome twitch of his tentacles tells Sabé he isn't happy with the balance, lucky for them.
His tentacles fluttered unpleasantly, as he tucks his datapad away.
"Fine. There's been rumblings about him going over to the Separatists and…negotiating."
"Have there been any rumblings about the Senator from Naboo?" Sabé asks, stomach in knots.
Had Prille known about the plans against Padmé? Had he let them make attempts on her and done nothing?
It wouldn't surprise her.
"They don't like her if that's what you mean," he says simply, taking his drink back from Saché.
"Really?" Saché arches an eyebrow. "Couldn't have guessed that."
Prille ignores her.
"That," he looks around covertly, "Dooku. He's been strengthening his base. I would imagine that would mean taking care of your darling Senator."
When he waves one of the attendants over, requests more drinks, Saché and Sabé agree he's told them all he knows.
He's not nearly clever enough to conceal anything from them. All he wants now is Corellian Whiskey and another Twi'lek.
"Taros Nueve. He's a long shot, which works out to a Hutt sized payout," Saché tells him as she scoots out of the booth, Sabé close behind.
Prille's tentacled face glows, apparently pleased with the information. "Pleasure doing business with such fine ladies."
Once they're out of earshot, Sabé shudders.
"I feel like I need to take several showers to get the slim off."
"More like a chemical laced scrub," Saché gags.
They wander to the bustling bar where Saché orders up rather frightening looking drinks for each of them.
Sabé makes a face as she sips the fiery concoction. Saché doesn't even flinch, just smiles cheekily at a dark haired man setting several seats down.
His lips quirk up, clearly interested, but then the comm on his arm lights up and he leaves.
Saché's lips pucker in disgust at the snub and she sulks, ordering another drink.
Worried about dragging a drunk Saché back to their room, Sabé nudges her.
"I think we've gotten all we're going to get out of the night."
"I know," Saché sighs, spinning on her stool and surveying the bar for more possible information gathering opportunities before turning back to Sabé. "We aren't going to hear anything I'm afraid. People are being too tight lipped these days."
"I'm almost tempted to say we should head back to Coruscant," Sabé admits as they get on the turbo.
They've done nothing but drink and bet the solid time they've been there. It's wasteful and tiring.
"Let's not get rash here," Saché tells her, tapping the interactive wall and pulling up the next day's races. "I've got a Quarran to split some winnings with tomorrow."
#######
Sabé is deep in sleep when she hears the angry beeping of the holoprojector announcing a message.
"Answer it," Sabé tells Saché.
"You," Saché mutters.
"No...you."
"You."
Saché takes a pillow and tightly clamps it over her head, blocking the noise and Sabé's insistence.
After glaring at Saché for a moment, mumbling a few choice words, Sabé slowly crawls out of bed and hits the machine.
It hums, the projector warming up, then the image forms.
Sabé glares up, bleary eyed and still half asleep, at the flickering blue figure. "Do you have any idea what time it is here?"
The image of Padmé gasps.
"Oh! I hadn't really thought about that. Sorry," she apologizes.
"What is it?" Saché asks through a yawn, propping herself up, eyes still only half open.
Padmé's shifts, her stance stiffens. Even through the terrible reception, both Saché and Sabé can tell she's feeling guilty.
She'd have to be to wake them up at such an obscene hour.
She's planning something stupid. Something amazingly stupid.
"What are you planning Padmé?" Sabé ask, running a weary hand over her face.
Shifting uncomfortably, Padmé straightens her gown before taking a deep breath.
It's going to be a whopper.
"Anakin and I are going to Tatooine."
Sabé is too stunned for words. It's even worse than she'd imagined.
"Why?" Saché asks, fully awake now, arms crossed over her chest and a scowl etched on her face. "Are you joking? That's a terrible joke if so."
Padmé shakes her head, sets her face in its sternest look.
"Anakin's been having nightmares about his mother. Terrible visions. We're going to Tatooine to look for her."
Saché groans. "You know what? I had a nightmare too, Pads. The Nubian Senator disregarded all the hard work and sacrifice her friends made for her and went to a planet controlled by a giant gangster slug to help a Jedi with bad dreams. It's probably just something he ate."
Padmé shakes her head.
"These visions aren't just nightmares though, Sach," Padmé whispers. "I really believe he's seeing something."
Sabé wrings her hands, bites her lip.
"Padmé please don't do this. It's a very bad, awful, terrible idea," Sabé pleads, knowing she's fighting a losing battle.
Padmé shakes her head. "No, and it's too late. We're already en route."
Saché flops back on her bed with a groan
"Forgiveness not permission again then? I take it you haven't told Typho?"
"No, I haven't," Padmé frowns. "Neither of you two are going to tell him either. I'm just telling the both of you so they can't say I didn't let anyone know."
"Spreading the trouble, how very thoughtful of you," Saché mutters, taking her pillow and putting it over face again.
Sabé rubs her face with her hands and hopes against hope this is just a very unfortunate nightmare all her own.
Looking up, she sees the bluish figure looking down at her, eyes wide and pleading.
Not a nightmare then.
"Anakin will be with me the whole time," she assures them. "He'll protect me with his life."
"I'm sure he will," Saché's muffled voice says, from under the pillow.
Padmé rolls her eyes.
"As soon as we locate Anakin's mother well head straight back for Naboo," she promises. "No matter what, I'll keep you updated on our plans."
Sabé presses her fingers to her temples. "I should hope so. They'll want a very thorough explanation from us during the disciplinary meeting will be subjected to when they hear what you've done."
"I'll be fine," she tells her. "The both of you, be safe. I'll see you soon."
Then her image flickers off, leaving only the light from the decorative neon chrono glowing in the room.
The bed creaks and Sabé hears Saché sigh.
"I have a very bad feeling about this."
Nodding, Sabé collapses back.
"Me too."