They dropped out of hyperspace above a brown-tinged world that definitely wasn’t Naboo.
“Padmé, where are we?” Bail Organa asked, leaning over the console to check the navicomputer. “Did you put in the wrong coordinates?”
“No,” his fellow Senator responded as she instructed the shuttle to enter the atmosphere, “we’re right where we need to be.”
Bail frowned as he found the name of the system they’d arrived at. “But – this is Aargonar.”
The Aargonarian leadership had recently asked the Senate to send delegates to ease tension during the transfer of power ceremony. The existing governor was stepping down in objection to the Republic’s treatment of Confederacy of Independent Systems, and his successor had been selected due to his interest in exchanging the planet’s neutral status for a Separatist one.
He looked at her sharply. “What are we doing here?”
Padmé focused on adjusting the controls. “The governor requested for mediators to be present, to make sure things don’t get out of hand.”
“And the Senate voted to deny their request on the grounds that they are Separatist sympathizers,” Bail reminded her. He paused as they rocketed through the upper atmosphere, the shuttle humming slightly as they broke through and began slowing down. “From what I hear, they won’t be a Republic system much longer. Padmé, what are we doing here?”
Padmé hesitated. “I received intel that Senator Bonteri’s husband, Claydon, is here, seeking to establish a Separatist base.”
“Have you reported it to the Chancellor?” Bail demanded.
Padmé offered a small chuckle. “You think the Chancellor doesn’t already know?” She grew serious. “The Chancellor plans on issuing a strike force to wipe out the base. I’ve got to warn Claydon. I owe it to Mina.”
As much as he wanted to be angry with Padmé, he couldn’t. She loved Senator Bonteri, and Claydon was a good man, in spite of his political allegiance. Before the war began, Bail had actually become fond of the senator’s husband, finding him to be an excellent conversationalist during otherwise tedious dinners.
“They’ll hardly let two Senators waltz into a new Separatist post,” Bail pointed out gently. “I’m afraid we won’t get close.”
“Aargonar still holds the Jedi in high esteem, and would do anything they ask.”
“Well, yes, maybe. But we don’t have any Jedi with us.”
Instead of answering, Padmé turned the controls over to Bail and rose from her seat, exiting the cockpit. Bail let out a breath. Padmé was one of his closest friends, and he knew her well enough to realize that he was about to get roped into one of her escapades.
The cockpit door hissed open and he flicked on the auto-pilot. Bail turned to find Padmé holding out a bundle of clothes to him. Suspiciously, he took them and let them unfurl. A tunic, some leggings, a utility belt, a long cloak –
It took him two more beats before it sank in. He rounded on Padmé. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You can’t be serious!”
“It’s illegal! Have you forgotten that?”
“I’m sure the Jedi Council will understand.” Padmé smiled slightly. “You don’t have to come with me, Bail. You’re free to take the ship once I’ve landed, if you promise to return for me in three days.”
“I can’t leave you here alone,” Bail exclaimed. “I – Padmé, this is ludicrous. We don’t have Jedi abilities! If something goes wrong, if they ask us to prove ourselves, we’ll be caught.
“We go in and make it clear that we are only there for deterrence. That’s a large portion of a Jedi’s job anyway; their presence alone is enough to make most beings back down. We’ll earn the trust of some government official who knows about the Separatist base, and we’ll ask to see it. It’s a reasonable request, and they know Jedi would never use subterfuge to destroy it. It’s still at the stage where a Jedi could claim diplomatic immunity. I can get in contact with Claydon and… well, whatever he does with the information is up to him.” She looked up at him, determined. “I have to do this, Bail. I have to try.”
Bail sighed and shook his head. There was no argument that would sway her; she was, of course, right. “Very well.”
“Then get changed. We’ll be landing soon.”
The tunic was a bit small, but it would serve. The boots Padmé provided fit reasonably well, but didn’t match the arch of his foot at all. Bail hoped he wouldn’t have to do any running in them. His shoulders sagged. I’m with Padmé. Of course I’ll have to run.
He caught himself as the ship touched down on solid land. He returned to the cockpit to find that Padmé had already donned a set of robes. Used to seeing her in senatorial garb and evening gowns, he found it strange to see her in the unembellished tunic.
“Where did you even get these?” he asked, peering at his own clothes. The darker color reminded him of Master Skywalker’s robes.
“Mine was made my seamstress. Yours I had to – ah, borrow.”
He shot her a look. “And you’ll return it, of course?”
“Of course,” she responded, avoiding his eye. “One last detail.” She reached into a crate at her feet and pulled out a smaller box. She opened it carefully and turned it towards Bail. Inside rested two lightsabers.
“What?” Bail recoiled, his eyes widening. “What have you –?”
“They’re not real lightsabers,” Padmé said quickly, picking one up and showing him. “Captain Typho designed it. If you hit the main button here, it releases a blaster bolt. Jedi don’t carry blasters, but he refused to go along with this unless I had some type of weapon. And this knob here, if you twist it, it emits a thick smoke that would give us some cover if we needed to escape.”
Bail took the false lightsaber gingerly. “I suppose we do have to look the part.” He clipped the weapon onto his belt, then spread his arms. “How do I look?”
Padmé regarded him thoughtfully. “Uncertain, uncomfortable, but the costume almost makes up for it.”
“I can’t act like a Jedi.”
“Just act like your normal self, Bail. You already carry yourself much like I’ve seen Jedi do. Just throw in some wry remarks and you’ll convince them.”
He caught her by the arm as she went to pass him. Irritation flashed across her face, but vanished a moment later. “Are you sure about this?” Bail asked quietly. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”
“So are you, by agreeing to come,” she said.
They stood in silence for a long moment. They were both nervous, Bail knew. Trying to go undetected into enemy territory impersonating Jedi was nerve-wracking enough, but if they were discovered to be Senators, here without the Senate’s permission, they would be accused of treason, or...
“You know I’ll always be here for you.”
Bail let her lead the way down the shuttle’s ramp. Waiting for them at the platform was a bald human male with a full beard and a blaster at his hip. Two security guards flanked him, black helmets masking their faces. The man stepped forward.
“Welcome to Aargonar, Master Jedi. I am Deean Corre, head of the governor’s security force. I must say, we were not expecting your arrival. We had been under the impression the Republic would have nothing to do with our world and its democratic processes. We are honored to have you here, Masters –?”
Padmé bowed. “Sola Naberrie, sir.”
Bail followed her lead, bending at the waist and dipping his head. “Giles Durane, at your service.”
Padmé clasped her hands in front of her. “We apologize that we did not announce our intention to arrive sooner. The Chancellor asked that we keep this matter under wraps, to avoid any unnecessary attention.”
“Of course, of course,” Corre responded hurriedly. “I understand the precaution. If you would follow me, Master Jedi, I shall escort you to the governor’s chambers. I am sure you will have much to discuss.”
Bail exchanged a glance with Padmé. She gave an encouraging smile. Bail allowed himself a deep breath. “I’m sure we will,” he responded mildly.
**A submission for @finish-the-clone-wars writing Wednesday prompt, Infiltration**
