"Preamble!" Palpatine spat, pacing back and forth across his scarlet living room at top speed. "One would never guess I'm senior to all of them. The very level of disrespect-!"
Sereine sat on his stiff, red nerf leather couch—the furniture in his study was much less stylish and much more comfortable—and let him vent. One necessary talent in dealing with her most difficult client: Knowing what not to say when.
Which reminded her. She needed to bring Tomal, her assistant director, in on this. If she should ever get hit by a speeder and Palpatine suffered some political crisis, Tomal would be the one who got the call, and both he and Palpatine needed more experience dealing with each other. Her office had a system of stars to warn employees which clients were considered difficult, and she was now watching a tantrum from her only two-star client. Right now, his file read, "Sereine Only," and that simply wasn't realistic. What if some scandal happened while she was gone for six months on campaign?
Palpatine paced and ranted, ranted and paced, and she sat quietly and absorbed it all. Holding him would not help, kissing him would not help.
Sex might help. Later. She imagined he might be rather rough tonight.
At last he wound down and turned, casting her a baleful glare. Of course, she was expected to do something to ameliorate the situation. But what could she do to change Bail Organa's committee assignments?
"I'm sorry, Sheev," she told him. "But it's a long process from here to there, and anything can happen. Things aren't set in stone."
She thought a bit more. "And I do have the opener and the closer. I'm going to write those specifically for you, and when I have done, they won't be able to argue with me."
"What good is that?" spat Palpatine.
"It will make you the public face of this bill," said Sereine. "I've taken each of you through one campaign, and I know what all of you can do. If I write a speech for Bail, I can give it to you, and it'll be ten times better than the words on the page if you do your best work with it. But I cannot write a speech for you and give it to him. Not if I write up to what you're capable of doing."
"None of the meat of that bill is going to be mine," Palpatine fumed. "None of it!"
"We don't know that yet," said Sereine. "And, if nothing else, your name will be on it. Only historical scholars will know who wrote what."
"Oh, that's comforting!" He scowled and set off across the room again.
"Don't underestimate what these speeches will do for your career," said Sereine. "I can write things for you I can't possibly write for anyone else in that Rotunda. Sheev, you could have been a classically trained actor. You have more tone colors and moods and range in your voice than anyone else in there, bar none. You're handsome and you have a great face and beautiful eyes. We do our best on these, and they'll be in everyone's living room the Republic over."
"I intended far more from this," snapped Palpatine. "I intended far more from this. Mothma! Force knows what she'll write!"
Sereine stared at the floor, groping for what she could do to lift this presentation into something truly memorable. Clearly, that was what Valorum had intended. Or Bail, whoever had assigned it to her.
She thought of her new studio with all its equipment for producing her own commercials, and suddenly it hit her.
She half stood up, and then lowered herself slowly to the couch again. "Sheev!" she breathed. "Sheev … I know exactly what we're going to do!"
Two young boys hopped off of a public service speeder at the Jedi Temple square. "No, I checked this out, really!" Selway was saying. "They keep their hangar open almost all day long, because so many Jedis are flying in and out. And if we go in this storm drain, we come out right in back where the hangar is!"
Joven and Selway tried their best to lift the grating, but here in the square public maintenance must be better and the grates were bolted down.
"We've got to walk all the way around," moaned Joven, staring up at the five towers of the Temple, stretching impossibly away into oblivion. The Temple itself was huge as a mountain; it had to be two klicks just to reach the back side of it. "And then, we've got to not get caught."
"It's not that far," said Selway. "We're tourists! Come on!"
"And you really know where Master Dooku keeps his ship?"
"It was in the holofan monthly last month!"
"If you think they really know anything." Joven kicked a stray rock with the toe of his school shoe.
"Come onnn!"
They walked and walked around the massive Temple until they reached a force field that protected the Jedi hangar, with signs reading "Restricted Area." Bay doors yawned open before them like five smashball fields end to end, with so many fierce-looking ships inside Joven caught his breath.
"Wowww …"
"I bet there's a way around the force field!" Selway said. "Let's look around."
Joven shook his head. "I don't want to get electrocuted by a force field."
"It's the Jedi Temple! They won't electrocute anyone." Selway walked the perimeter of the force field where it drew close to the building, looking for any gaps or weak spots. Joven followed with no more enthusiasm than he would dragging himself to detention at school. He didn't think seeing Master Dooku's ship was worth getting caught by an angry Jedi master and possible involvement with the police and his parents. Things were bad enough at home, anyway.
As they watched, a Delta-seven flew in and landed before the hangar doors.
Selway pointed. "Delta-Seven starfighter!"
"I knew that one," said Joven.
The cockpit canopy rose and a Nautolan emerged to meet the ground crew who ran out to the ship. "Master Kit Fisto!" Selway pointed.
"Why do you like Jedi so much?" asked Joven.
"Why do you like smashball players? They're fierce! Hey, look. I bet we could squeeze in here," said Selway, pointing to an area of broken, buckled pavement under a section of force field. "We're small enough to crawl under that."
Joven glanced all around. "It's right in broad daylight!"
"We'll be quick!" Selway dropped to the ground, and in two seconds he had wriggled himself under. "Come on!"
Joven stood there, his mouth hanging open, afraid to move. But Selway was already running along the force field toward the hangar. Rather than yell, he waved an arm.
Joven hesitated, then threw himself on the ground and wriggled under himself.
They found themselves lost among so many great ships, it was like a museum of great ships. But a living museum, complete with the smells of grease, oil, and fuel. So many ships he thought he'd never see so up close, so real. He could only imagine the heroic Jedi who sat in each cockpit, manning the controls, firing at enemies. Bright lights shone down from a faraway ceiling, bathing the cavern in patches of light and shadow. To their left, a door into another room gave them a view through a large window of one of the Deltas in pieces. Beings in silver work suits climbed all over it, armed with tools.
"It must be the ultimate to be a Jedi knight," he whispered.
Selway pointed here and there. "Those are Delta-sevens. There's an N-1 starfighter in here! I wonder if Master Throdish uses that. He's from Naboo. Come here!"
Selway grabbed Joven by his shirt and practically dragged him, slipping between ships. He ducked down and peered around. "They have some Sleuths over there! Scout ships!" he whispered.
Joven peered down a long, imposing row of Delta-sevens to see a grouping of insect-like ships shaped like needles with long, clear bubbles for cockpits and a canopy of wings at their far backs. "Those are so neat," he whispered. "How'd you like to sit in that cockpit and fly that?" He could wander this place forever, just staring at the ships. And they did, for a few more minutes, Selway pulling him along by his jacket sleeve.
"Star Courier!" whispered Selway, pointing at two round ships with half-round wings and long, long fuselages in the back corner. "There's two in here. Master Dooku uses one of them. His is blue."
The ships were mostly white, but—yep. One of them had blue trim. Now it was Joven's turn to point. "There it is! That's his ship!"
"Shh! Wanna go and look?"
Sneaking looks around, oil and fuel fumes burning their noses, creeping silently across the floor, they stole closer and closer to the immense fighter, majestic in its roundness and savage with its long, pointed fuselage.
"Can you imagine flying this?" whispered Selway. "I want to be a Jedi! Life is so not fair!"
"You don't have to be a Jedi to fly these," whispered Joven.
"But the missions, and all the great stuff they do! Kriff knows what we're going to do. Clean 'freshers, or something. Hey, look!" Selway pointed once again. "This really is his ship! They painted his name on it!"
Sure enough, Master Dooku was emblazoned on the fuselage in blue, toward the underside.
"I have to touch it," said Joven. He crept closer, and put his hand on the landing gear.
A force field beam switched on across the landing gear, trapping his hand. Joven felt pins and needles. "Uh-oh!" The beam emanated from the back wall. Joven pulled. His hand was truly stuck. He was stuck there.
"Run!" he turned his head. "You don't need to get caught!"
Footsteps approached. Two Padawans in work suits rounded the ship to the diagonal right and stopped short. One Twi-lek boy and one Quarren, about their own age.
"You're not Jedi. What are you doing in here?"
"You're Padawans?" said Selway. "Wow. Who are your masters?"
A bemused Master of the Grounds, a middle-aged human named Prear, gave them a lecture about breaking and entering and what delicate machines these were and how deeply the Jedi pilots depended on them before escorting them outside the force field once again. At the entrance, two workers were patching the hole under the force field and repaving.
"At least he didn't call our parents. My dad's got enough to worry about," said Joven as they walked through the long afternoon shadows to catch a public speeder home.
"It would have been worth it even if he did. I want to work in there someday taking care of all those ships," said Selway. "When are you guys leaving for your grandma's?"
"Next week."
"Do you think you'll ever come back?"
"I don't know." He kicked a small pebble. "I hate moving."