Chapter 02: The Naboo Summit

   CHAPTER 2: THE NABOO BLOCKADE

   The Reliant - In Orbit Around Naboo

   14:5:7945 CRC 

Queen Amidala steps onto the boarding ramp of the Naboo Royal Starship at Theed Palace, the chrome hull gleaming under the midday sun as Captain Panaka, Sabé, and Senator Palpatine follow close behind. The boarding ramp retracts with a smooth hydraulic hiss, sealing the Naboo delegation inside the ship's gleaming interior. The air here is filtered, cool, and smells of polished metal a stark contrast to Theed's humid, waterfall-scented breeze.

Captain Panaka moves immediately to the forward viewport, his eyes scanning the sky. "Orbital control confirms our flight path is clear to the coordinates. The Federation has opened a corridor. For now."

Senator Palpatine stands beside the queen, his hands folded before him. "A gesture of goodwill, Your Highness. They wish this negotiation to proceed."

"They wish my signature on their treaty," Amidala says, her voice measured behind the white makeup. She does not look at Palpatine. Her gaze is on the planet shrinking in the viewport, the blue-green curve of Naboo, her home, now encircled by those dark, ring-shaped shadows. "Your signature is a formality," Palpatine says. "Your presence is the message."

The throne room of the Royal Palace is quiet now, the usual hum of governance stilled. Only Governor Sio Bibble remains, a datapad clutched in his hands, his face etched with lines of worry that deepen as the starship's engines fade to a distant whisper.

"They will be safe," he says, though the words sound hollow even to him. The palace guards at the doors do not react.

Aboard the Naboo Royal Starship, the silence is different. It is the quiet of held breath. Sabé sits in the appointed chair, the one positioned directly beneath the main viewport. Her posture is perfect, her hands folded in her lap, identical to the queen's in every visible detail. The stark white makeup masks her features, transforming her into an icon. From this seat, she can see the entire chamber and the delegates beginning to assemble. The Naboo Royal Starship glides through the designated corridor, the dark rings of the Lucrehulks sliding past the viewports like monolithic, silent sentinels. Inside, the air is cool and still.

Captain Panaka's hand doesn't leave his blaster's grip. "They're tracking us. Standard escort protocol. Two droid fighters off each wing."

"They are ensuring we do not deviate," Senator Palpatine observes, his tone mild. He stands beside Sabé's chair, a study in calm. "It is, unfortunately, standard."

From her position slightly behind and to the left of the decoy queen, Amidala watches the Neimoidian command ship grow larger in the forward viewport. Her own face, mirrored in Sabé's makeup, feels like a mask beneath a mask. She says nothing.

The Republic Cruiser hangs ahead, a grey spear against the stars. The ship's ventral docking bay is a cavern of polished grey durasteel and harsh, white light. The Naboo Royal Starship settles onto its designated pad with a gentle thump, landing struts absorbing the last of the inertia. The hum of its engines dies, replaced by the distant, metallic echoes of the cruiser's own systems.

Captain Panaka is the first to the hatch. He keys the release, and the ramp extends with a low hydraulic whine. The air that washes in is cold, sterile, and carries the faint, sharp scent of ionized particles. He descends halfway, his eyes scanning the bay. A line of Republic Judicials in crisp grey uniforms stands at attention. Beyond them, a delegation is waiting.

"Clear," Panaka says, his voice flat. He steps aside.

Sabé rises. She moves with a slow, regal grace, her heavy robes whispering against the deck. The Neimoidian delegation stands a careful ten paces from the ramp's foot. Viceroy Nute Gunray is at its center, his long-fingered hands clasped before his ornate robes. His advisor, Rune Haako, hovers just behind his shoulder, a datapad clutched to his chest. Two silent, polished droids flank them, their photoreceptors glowing a steady amber.

Sabé descends the ramp. Each step is measured, the hem of her robe brushing the polished deck. She stops at the base, allowing the distance between herself and the Viceroy to remain. Protocol as a shield.

"Your Highness," Gunray says, his voice reedy. He offers a shallow bow. "The Trade Federation welcomes you to these talks. We hope a mutually beneficial accord can be reached."

Sabé inclines her head, a fraction. She does not speak. Senator Palpatine descends the ramp to stand just behind her right shoulder. His presence is a quiet assertion of Republic oversight. "The Supreme Chancellor shares that hope, Viceroy," he says. "Shall we proceed to the conference chamber?"

Gunray's eyes dart from the silent queen to Palpatine, then to the line of Judicials. "Of course." He gestures toward a wide doorway at the far end of the bay. "This way."

As the shuttle carrying the Jedi delegation approaches the meeting, Grand Master Yoda leans on his gimer stick, his large eyes reflecting the starlight. The cruiser grows in the viewport, its running lights blinking in a steady, silent pattern.

Mace Windu sits in the co-pilot's seat, his hands resting on his knees. "Dooku is already aboard." Yoda's clawed hand tightens on his gimer stick. The cruiser's grey hull fills the viewport, a stark geometry against the soft nebula glow of the Chommell sector. "Sense him, I do," Yoda murmurs. "Calm, he is. Too calm."

Mace Windu does not turn from the viewport. His profile is sharp in the cockpit's instrument glow. "He has always been calm. It's his battlefield." He pauses. "The Queen is aboard. The Neimoidians have her. I don't like the symbolism."

"A show of control," Plo Koon says from the seat behind Windu. His mask filters his breath into a soft, rhythmic hiss. "They wish to demonstrate that her presence is a concession, not a right."

Adi Gallia watches the sensor display. "Two Lucrehulk-class vessels have adjusted position." As she speaks, the shuttle's landing struts kiss the deck of the Republic cruiser's hangar bay with a soft pneumatic sigh. The ramp lowers into air that is several degrees colder than the ship's interior, carrying the sharp, clean scent of filtered oxygen and industrial lubricant.

Yoda is the first to descend, his small form moving with a deliberate, unhurried pace. His gimer stick taps a soft, regular rhythm on the polished durasteel. A delegation of Republic Judicial officers waits at a respectful distance, their grey uniforms crisp. One, a human commander with close-cropped hair, steps forward and offers a shallow bow.

"Grand Master. Masters. The conference is assembling in Chamber Aurek. Chancellor Valorum is already present."

Mace Windu descends next, his dark robes settling around him. "Count Dooku?"

"The Count of Serenno arrived an hour ago, Master Windu. He is with the Chancellor." The Judicial commander's words hung in the cold air. Mace Windu gave a single, curt nod. His eyes scanned the hangar bay—the neat rows of shuttles, the patrolling guards, the high ceiling lost in shadow. Everything was in order. Too much order.

Yoda's ears twitched slightly. He did not comment on Dooku's early arrival. Instead, he began walking, his stick tapping a path toward the wide corridor leading deeper into the cruiser. The others fell into step behind him: Windu, Plo Koon, Adi Gallia. Their boots echoed in the vast space.

The corridor was narrow, painted a dull Republic grey, lit by recessed strips of white light. The air grew warmer as they moved away from the bay, but it retained that sterile, recycled quality. They passed a junction where two Judicials stood watch, their blaster rifles held at a formal port arms. The corridor opens into a wide, circular antechamber. A large, reinforced viewport looks out onto the star-dusted black and the blockaded curve of Naboo below. Standing before the viewport, his back to the room, is a tall figure in elegant, dark robes. He turns as the Jedi enter.

Count Dooku's face is composed, his bearing aristocratic. He offers a slight, formal bow. "Master Yoda. Masters."

Yoda stops, leaning on his stick. "Count Dooku. Early, you are."

"The Chancellor wished to review the procedural points before the other parties arrived," Dooku says. His voice is a smooth, cultured baritone. "He is within, finalizing the seating arrangements with the protocol droid."

Mace Windu's gaze is steady, assessing. "And the Trade Federation delegation?"

"In their private chambers, I am told. Preparing their… presentation." The chamber beyond the antechamber's open doors is circular, dominated by a central holographic projector currently inert. The seating is arranged in a shallow tier, facing a central speaking floor. Chancellor Valorum stands near the podium, speaking in low tones to a silver protocol droid. He looks up as the Jedi enter, his expression one of weary relief.

"Grand Master. Thank you for coming." Valorum steps forward, his hand briefly touching Dooku's arm in a gesture of familiarity. "Count Dooku has been invaluable in getting the Federation to the table."

"A table they built," Mace Windu says, his voice low.

Valorum's smile is thin. "Nevertheless, it is a table. The Queen is here. That is something."

From the doorway opposite, a new group enters. Viceroy Gunray leads, his steps hesitant. Rune Haako follows, datapad held like a shield. The protocol droid's polished head swivels toward the new arrivals. "The delegation from the Trade Federation, Your Excellency."

Chancellor Valorum's posture straightens, the weary relief hardening into formal diplomacy. "Viceroy. Advisor Haako. Please, join us."

Gunray's eyes sweep the room, lingering on the silent Jedi before settling on Valorum. The antechamber's silence becomes a different kind of quiet—the heavy stillness of a stage before the curtain rises.

> Queen Amidala enters the summit discretely beside Senator Palpatine in disguise. 

In the gallery above the circular conference chamber, Queen Amidala stands near the railing, her white robes blending with the shadows of the upper tier. The protocol droid's polished silver head swivels toward the antechamber doors. "The Naboo delegation, Your Excellency."

All heads turn. Captain Panaka enters first, his hand resting on his blaster's grip. He scans the room, his gaze pausing on each Jedi, each Neimoidian, each unfamiliar face. He steps aside.

Sabé descends the three shallow steps into the conference circle, the heavy hem of her robe whispering against the polished floor. The protocol droid's announcement hangs in the air a moment too long. Sabé's measured steps are the only sound in the chamber. She stops at the circular table's designated point, the one opposite Viceroy Gunray. She does not sit.

From the gallery, Amidala watches the back of Sabé's head, the perfect posture, the stillness. Her own breath feels tight behind the simpler white makeup of a handmaiden. She stands beside Senator Palpatine, who leans slightly against the railing, his hands folded.

"Your Highness," Chancellor Valorum says, breaking the silence. He gestures to the empty seat beside him. "We are grateful for your presence."

Sabé inclines her head. She does not move toward the seat. Instead, her gaze sweeps the room, passing over Gunray, Haako, the silent Jedi, and settling for a moment on Count Dooku. The central holographic projector flickers to life, casting a pale blue glow across the floor. It displays a rotating image of Naboo, its continents and seas rendered in stark, cartographic lines. The blockade's Lucrehulk positions are marked with pulsing red dots. The hum of the device is a low, constant undercurrent to the silence.

Viceroy Gunray clears his throat. The sound is dry and nervous. "The Trade Federation welcomes the opportunity for dialogue," he begins, his eyes fixed on a datapad Lufa Danak slides toward him. "We have prepared a revised proposal."

Rune Haako leans forward slightly, his long fingers steepled. "A proposal that addresses the concerns previously raised by Her Majesty's advisors. It is… generous."

Sabé remains standing. Her voice, when it comes, is the queen's voice—clear, modulated, and devoid of inflection. "Generosity is not required." The hologram of Naboo spins slowly, its blue light painting the underside of Sabé's chin. "Clarity is."

Chancellor Valorum's hands rest on the table. "Then let us begin with clarity. Viceroy, you have the floor."

Nute Gunray's fingers flutter over his datapad. A new document superimposes itself over the planet—a dense scroll of legal text. "The revised Trade Federation Accord. It recognizes the sovereign authority of the Naboo monarch… in all domestic matters. It affirms our right to maintain a security presence in orbit… pending the resolution of outstanding tariff disputes." He looks up, his yellow eyes seeking Sabé's. "It provides for the immediate resumption of food and medical shipments. Today."

From the gallery, Amidala watches Sabé's shoulders. They do not move.

"A security presence," Sabé repeats. Her tone is flat. "Your battle droids on our soil." The hologram of Naboo continues its slow rotation. The red dots marking the Lucrehulks pulse in time with Gunray's nervous blinking.

"A temporary stabilization force," Lufa Danak interjects, his voice a dry, precise counterpoint. His left eye twitches. "Article Seven, subsection C. The wording is specific. Their deployment is contingent upon local authorities being unable to guarantee the security of Federation assets within the plasma refinery zones."

Captain Panaka's knuckles are white where they grip the back of Sabé's empty chair. He says nothing.

"And who defines 'unable to guarantee'?" The question comes from Count Dooku. He hasn't moved from his place near the viewport, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe. His tone is one of academic curiosity. The hologram's blue light glints off Dooku's silvering temples. He does not look at Gunray. He looks at the hologram itself, as if studying a flawed sculpture.

Lufa Danak's datapad chirps softly. "The definition is established in the Coruscant Accords of 392. Precedent is clear. The assessing party is a joint committee, comprised of one Federation representative, one Naboo representative, and one neutral arbiter appointed by the Senate."

"The Senate," Mace Windu says, his voice cutting through the procedural hum, "is currently unable to appoint a janitor, let alone an arbiter." He remains seated, his hands resting on the arms of his chair. "That clause renders the entire provision void."

Danak's eye twitches faster. "The provision is valid pending appointment. The structure is sound." The central hologram projector emits a soft, frustrated beep. Its light wavers for a second before stabilizing. The scrolling text of the treaty remains.

> Sabé (Disguised as Queen) suggests the Naboo delegation meet privately for a little while to examine the proposal and discuss in private. 

Sabé's gloved hands remain folded on the polished table. The blue light from the hologram casts sharp shadows under her chin. "The Naboo delegation would benefit from a recess," she says, the queen's voice carrying evenly across the chamber. "To examine the proposal's text in detail. Without… external pressure."

Viceroy Gunray's shoulders slump slightly, a barely perceptible release of tension. The request hangs in the air, a polite interruption of the procedural deadlock. Chancellor Valorum blinks, then nods, almost grateful for the pause. "A reasonable request. This chamber is at your disposal."

Rune Haako leans toward Gunray, whispering something lost beneath the hum of the projector. Gunray gives a jerky nod of assent.

From the gallery, Amidala watches Sabé's stillness. She feels Palpatine shift beside her, a subtle movement of fabric. "A wise maneuver," he murmurs, his voice for her alone. "It forces them to wait."

Count Dooku unfolds his hands from his sleeves. "An interval for reflection serves all parties," he says, his tone neutral. He glances toward the Jedi. "Perhaps the Order would also appreciate a moment to consult?"

Mace Windu stands. "We will adjourn to the antechamber." Yoda's ears twitch. He does not look at Dooku. His gaze is on the hologram of Naboo, the red dots pulsing like a slow, infected heartbeat. He taps his gimer stick once against the floor. "Agree, I do. A moment, we shall take."

The Neimoidians are already gathering their datapads. Lufa Danak's fingers move with practiced speed, securing files. His left eye continues its rapid tic. He avoids looking at the Jedi as he follows Gunray and Haako toward a side door marked with Federation insignia.

Captain Panaka remains rooted behind Sabé's chair. His eyes track the retreating Viceroy, then sweep the chamber, noting the exits, the positions of the remaining Republic Judicials. He gives Sabé an almost imperceptible nod.

Sabé does not move. The side door seals behind the Neimoidians with a soft hiss. The chamber feels larger, emptier. The blue hologram continues its silent rotation. Chancellor Valorum lets out a long, controlled breath. He moves to the central podium, his fingers tracing the edge of the smooth console.

Count Dooku watches him for a moment, then turns to the Jedi. "Masters." He offers another slight bow before following his own aides—Tal Merrik and Mira Hest—toward a different corridor. Arken Vell falls into step behind them, his broad frame blocking the view of Dooku's back for a second before he too is gone.

In the gallery, Amidala feels the tension in her own shoulders. She watches Sabé finally sit, the heavy robes settling around the chair. Captain Panaka steps closer, his voice a low murmur meant only for the decoy. "They'll return expecting an answer."

The side door to the Naboo delegation's private chamber slides shut, sealing out the low hum of the conference room. The space is smaller, functional: a table, chairs, a single viewport showing the same starfield. Captain Panaka stations himself by the door, his hand still near his blaster.

Sabé remains seated, her posture still regal, but the rigidness has left her shoulders. She looks at Panaka, then at the other handmaidens who had entered silently behind them. "We are alone."

From among the handmaidens, one steps forward. She removes the simple white headdress, revealing the same stark makeup beneath. It is Amidala. Her eyes, no longer downcast, meet Sabé's. "Play the recording," she says, her voice her own now—younger, sharper, without the queen's measured modulation.

Sabé reaches into the folds of her robe and produces a small, cylindrical recorder. The playback is a thin, reedy whisper in the quiet room. Gunray's voice, strained. "—cannot authorize a withdrawal without a ratified treaty. The directive is explicit."

A second voice, flatter, mechanized—Wat Tambor's aide. "The Union's position remains. The refineries are idle. Idle machinery depreciates. Compensation must be factored."

Amidala listens, her eyes on the viewport, on the distant, blockaded curve of her home. When it ends, she turns to Sabé. "They're not negotiating. They're stalling. They want the treaty as a shield. For something else."

Captain Panaka's jaw tightens. "A shield for what? They have the orbit locked down. What more do they need?"

"The Senate," Amidala says. She moves to the table, her handmaiden's robes whispering. "Valorum cannot act without them." The recorder's whisper cuts off. The silence in the small room is heavier than before. Captain Panaka's eyes are fixed on Amidala. "You think they're waiting for the Senate to collapse."

"I think they are counting on it," Amidala says, her voice low. She turns from the viewport. "This treaty isn't for Naboo. It's for the Republic's record. A legal document that says we agreed to our own occupation. That makes any future action by the Senate… complicated."

> Senator Palpatine says, "Gunray answers to someone. Not the Directorate – someone else. Someone who wants that treaty signed before the Senate can grow a spine. We don't have to win here. We only have to delay until that someone shows their hand." 

Palpatine's words hang in the small chamber, quiet but absolute. Amidala turns, her gaze finding his where he stands near the viewport. She doesn't speak. She doesn't need to. The chamber's filtered air feels suddenly colder. Amidala's eyes hold Palpatine's for a long moment, then drift back to the starfield and the distant, menacing rings of the Lucrehulks. "Delay," she repeats, the word tasting of ash. "My people are hungry now. The medical stores in Theed's central depot will last another ten days. After that, children will begin to die from preventable infections. We are counting the hours, Senator. Not the days."

Panaka shifts his weight. "A tactical delay could be arranged. A dispute over wording. A demand for clarifications that they are not prepared to give."

Sabé, still in the queen's robes, speaks without looking up from her folded hands. "They will see it as a tactic. They will push harder."

"Let them push," Palpatine says, his voice softening into a tone of weary reason.

The cylindrical recorder on the table reflects the overhead light in a thin silver line. Sabé's gloved fingers brush against it, but she does not pick it up. Her eyes remain on the door.

"They will push with more than words," Captain Panaka says. His hand hasn't left his blaster. "They have a droid army sitting in those ships. If they decide delay is denial, they have options we do not."

Amidala walks to the viewport. Her reflection in the transparisteel is a ghost over the stars. "Captain Panaka is correct. A dispute over wording only works if both sides believe the dispute is genuine. Gunray does not. He is afraid. A frightened man given an order will follow it, regardless of the words we throw at him." She turns back to the room. "Senator, you say Gunray answers to someone else. Who?"

Palpatine's shoulders lift in a slow, deliberate shrug. The senator's eyes remain on the viewport, on the distant, dark rings. "The Federation's Directorate is a committee of cowards," he says, his tone almost conversational. "They would have accepted a face-saving compromise weeks ago. The fact that they have not, that Gunray sits out there trembling but unwilling to bend, suggests the orders are not coming from Cato Neimoidia."

Captain Panaka's expression tightens. "You have evidence?"

"I have observation," Palpatine replies. He finally turns from the stars to face Amidala. "And logic. The blockade is illegal. The Senate's inaction makes it politically possible, but it remains illegal. For a corporation, that is a calculated risk. For Gunray, it is a terror. He would cut his losses if he could. Someone will not let him."

Amidala's gaze doesn't waver. The silence holds. No one moves. Then Captain Panaka touches his comlink. "Send it in."

The door hisses open. A small astromech droid rolls into the room – blue and white, dome head rotating. R2-D2 beeps softly, a datachit clamped in its manipulator arm. It stops before Senator Palpatine, extends the chit, and whistles.

Palpatine takes the datachit. R2-D2 beeps again, swivels, and rolls back out. The door closes.

Palpatine slots the datachit into the base of a small holoprojector on the table. Blue text flickers to life, hovering in the air between them. He reads in silence, then turns the projector so Amidala can see.

The transcript appears:

Gunray: The queen's signature makes the blockade legal. Without a ratified treaty, the Senate could still intervene. With it, our presence becomes a matter of contract, not aggression. The Directorate needs that legal shield before the next budget vote.

Aide: Foreman Tambor's concerns are economic. The plasma refineries on Naboo produce forty percent of the sector's refined fuel. Every day they sit idle, the Techno Union loses revenue. We require compensation for lost output plus first claim on future plasma shipments at pre-blockade prices.

Gunray: Compensation and trade concessions are being structured into the treaty. But the Naboo delegation is stalling. They ask for clarifications, for neutral observers, for anything except a signature.

Aide: Then make them understand the cost of stalling. The blockade remains in place. No food. No medicine. The longer they wait, the more desperate they become. Desperate people sign treaties.

Gunray: And if the Senate breaks its paralysis and votes for sanctions?

Aide: The Senate will not act before the treaty is signed. The one who arranged this negotiation has given us that assurance. Your task is to secure the document. Delay is acceptable. Failure is not. The Directorate will hold you accountable, and so will the one we do not name.

Palpatine reads it once, then passes the projector to Amidala. She reads. The room is silent. The blue holographic text hangs in the sterile air. Amidala reads it a second time, her eyes tracing the words "the one we do not name." Her face, beneath the handmaiden's makeup, is pale.

> Queen Amidala orders everyone to keep the recording and its contents secret until she can consult the Jedi Council after the meeting. > Queen Amidala next asks for feedback on idea that Sabé offer Gunray a counterproposal: Naboo will drop objections to refinery compensation in exchange for an immediate reduction of the blockade cordon by half, daily supply shipments, and removal of battle droids from refinery zones indefinitely while negotiations move forward, with the shipments starting within forty-eight hours. 

Amidala's fingers close around the small holoprojector. The blue text winks out. She places the device on the table, her hand covering it. "No one speaks of this. Not to Valorum. Not to the Jedi. Not until I have consulted the Council myself, after this session concludes."

Captain Panaka's brow furrows. "Your Highness, the Jedi are here. Master Yoda is in the antechamber now. They could—"

"They could do nothing," Amidala interrupts, her voice low but firm. "Not without proof that moves beyond corporate greed into… something else. A recording of a frightened viceroy is not that proof. It is a piece of a puzzle we do not yet see." She looks at Sabé, then at Palpatine. "We keep it. We watch."

Sabé gives a single, slow nod. Her eyes remain on the door. "And our next move?" Amidala turns back to the viewport. Her reflection is a pale smudge over the distant, dark rings of the Lucrehulks. "Sabé, you will offer Gunray a counterproposal. Naboo will drop all objections to the refinery compensation clauses."

Captain Panaka's hand tightens on his blaster grip. "Your Highness—"

Amidala continues, her voice cutting through his protest. "In exchange, the blockade cordon reduces by half within forty-eight hours. Daily supply shipments to Theed and all major population centers begin immediately, under Republic Judicial oversight. All battle droids are withdrawn from Naboo's atmosphere and refinery zones, indefinitely. Negotiations on the final treaty continue, but the shipments are not contingent on their conclusion. Stress to them the red line is this" we will not agree to any terms that involve legitimizing their blockade against the citizens of Naboo."

Silence fills the small room. The sterile air seems to thicken.

Senator Palpatine studies Amidala's reflection in the transparisteel. "It is a bold offer." The sterile light of the private chamber painted sharp lines across Palpatine's face as he considered the proposal. His hands remained folded. "It gives them the financial concession they crave," he said, his tone measured. "It removes the immediate humanitarian crisis from the board. And it asks them to visibly weaken their military position before a treaty is signed. They will see the risk."

"They will also see their leverage evaporating," Captain Panaka said, his voice tight. He hadn't moved from the door. "If the blockade is halved and supplies flow, the pressure on us to sign anything diminishes. They won't accept it."

"Then we learn something," Amidala said, turning from the viewport to face them. Her eyes, in the handmaiden's makeup, were fierce. "We learn if their priority is profit, or if it is something else. The recording suggests it is something else." Sabé's gloved hands adjusted the heavy sleeves of the queen's robe. She did not look at Amidala. "The offer is generous. It will force a reaction." She stood, the movement fluid and regal. "I will present it as a final concession from the throne. A gesture of good faith to break the deadlock."

Captain Panaka's comlink chimed softly. He glanced at the readout. "The recess is ending. They're returning to the chamber."

Amidala moved to stand among the other handmaidens. She replaced the simple headdress, her eyes meeting Sabé's for a fleeting second. "Remember," she said, her voice once again the softer cadence of an attendant. "The shipments start within forty-eight hours. That is not negotiable."

Queen Amidala looked at her delegation, knowing they had precious few minutes left before the summit resumes. She removed the simple headdress once more, her eyes fixed on Sabé. "One last time," she said, her voice low and clear. "We drop all objections to their compensation clauses for the refineries."

Sabé, already settling back into the queen's posture, gave a shallow nod. "The financial concession. It is likely what their backers want."

"Correct," Amidala continued. She held up one finger. "First exchange: the blockade cordon reduces by half. Not a vague promise. Half the Lucrehulks must withdraw to beyond the hyperlane limit, verified by Republic Judicial sensors, within forty-eight hours."

Senator Palpatine watched from near the viewport, his expression thoughtful. "They will argue verification takes time. That sensors can be fooled."

Amidala turned to him. "Then we negotiate how. But the withdrawal happens. If they refuse, the conversation is over. The same condition is true for supply lines to Naboo being reopened as long as negotiations are open."

The side door hissed open as Amidala finished and eased back into her role as handmaiden. Captain Panaka stood aside, his hand still resting on his blaster. Sabé moved first, the heavy red-and-black robes flowing around her as she reentered the circular conference chamber. The blue hologram of Naboo still spun silently over the central projector. The blue light of the hologram painted the underside of Sabé's chin as she resumed her place at the circular table.

> Sabé (Disguised as Queen) presents the counterproposal Queen Amidala has asked her to convey to the Trade Federation negotiators. 

Sabé stands, the heavy sleeves of the queen's robe settling around her wrists. She waits until the last delegate—Wat Tambor's Skakoan aide, its bulky environmental suit making a soft, pressurized hiss—has taken its place. The central hologram of Naboo spins, its light the only movement in the still chamber.

"The Naboo delegation has considered the proposal," Sabé says, her voice the queen's, clear and devoid of inflection. The blue hologram's glow catches the edges of the queen's headdress. Sabé's hands rest on the polished table. "We are prepared to withdraw all objections to the compensation clauses for the refinery idle time."

A soft, mechanical exhale comes from the Skakoan aide's vocoder. Rune Haako's long fingers pause over his datapad. Viceroy Gunray's yellow eyes dart toward the aide, then back to Sabé. "That is… a significant concession," he manages.

Sabé continues, her gaze fixed on a point just above Gunray's head. "In exchange, the blockade cordon will reduce by half. Verified by Republic Judicial sensors. Within forty-eight standard hours."

Captain Panaka's posture shifts, a subtle tightening of his shoulders. He watches Gunray's face.

"Half," Gunray repeats. His voice is thin. The Skakoan aide's helmet turns slightly, its vocoder emitting a low, processing hum. Lufa Danak's datapad chirps. His left eye twitches. "Verification protocols would need to be established. Judicial sensor calibration is a matter of some… technical debate."

Sabé does not acknowledge the objection. Her gloved hand gestures toward the hologram. "Concurrent with the withdrawal, daily supply shipments to all major Naboo population centers will commence. Under Judicial escort. The shipments are not contingent upon the conclusion of these talks."

Rune Haako leans forward. "Your Highness, such an arrangement would materially alter the status quo. It would imply a de-escalation before terms are finalized."

"Precisely," Sabé says. The word hangs in the air. She finally looks directly at Gunray. "And all battle droids currently within Naboo's atmosphere, or stationed within the plasma refinery zones, will be withdrawn." The Skakoan aide's vocoder crackles, a sharp, electronic sound. "The Techno Union cannot approve the removal of security assets from refinery zones. The machinery remains Federation property. Its protection is a contractual obligation."

Viceroy Gunray's hands flutter above the table. "The… the proposal is generous, Your Highness. But it asks us to disarm before a settlement is reached. The… risks…"

From the gallery, Amidala watches Sabé's profile, the perfect stillness. She feels Palpatine's presence beside her, a calm, observing pressure.

Count Dooku, standing near the viewport, speaks without turning. His eyes remain on the starfield beyond the viewport. "Risks exist for both sides," he says, his tone still that of a dispassionate observer. "The Naboo offer removes the humanitarian crisis from the table. It grants your principal financial demand. In return, it asks for a demonstration of good faith. A military de-escalation to match the diplomatic one."

Mace Windu watches Dooku, then shifts his gaze to the Skakoan. "The Jedi would be willing to assist in verification. Our ships carry no corporate allegiance."

The Skakoan's vocoder emits a clipped, translated phrase. "Jedi verification is not required. The Techno Union has its own metrics."

Chancellor Valorum clears his throat. The sound is weary. The Skakoan aide's dome helmet tilts toward Viceroy Gunray. The pressurized suit emits a low, cycling hum. "Foreman Tambor's position is clear. The machinery's security is non-negotiable. Withdrawal of droid assets would constitute a breach of the Union's standard custodial agreements with the Federation."

Gunray's throat works. He looks at Haako, who gives a minute, cautioning shake of his head. "Your Highness," Gunray begins, his voice straining for formality, "the… spirit of your counterproposal is appreciated. However, the practicalities…"

Sabé's expression does not change. "The practicalities are these: your compensation is guaranteed. Our people are fed. The negotiations continue in an atmosphere of tangible progress, not threat." She leans forward, just a fraction, the movement slow and deliberate. The silence in the conference chamber is total, broken only by the low hum of the hologram projector and the faint hiss of the Skakoan aide's respirator. All eyes are on Viceroy Gunray.

His yellow skin has taken on a sickly, greenish cast under the blue light. His fingers clutch the edge of the table. He looks at Haako, who stares fixedly at his own datapad. He looks at the Skakoan aide, whose dome helmet offers no expression.

He does not look at Sabé.

"The… the Federation must consult," Gunray blurts out. The words are too loud in the quiet room. "Such a… a realignment of forces requires approval from the Directorate. And from our… partners." His eyes dart toward the aide.

> Queen Amidala (Disguised as Handmaiden) goes into private quarters to discuss the plan for a counter proposal to what they just said.

The Skakoan aide's vocoder emitted a flat, synthesized tone. "Consultation is acceptable. A recess of one standard hour is granted." It did not wait for a response. The bulky suit turned with a whir of servos and moved toward the side exit designated for Federation use.

Viceroy Gunray scrambled to gather his datapads, his movements jerky. Rune Haako was already on his feet, a hand on Gunray's elbow, guiding him away from the table. Lufa Danak followed, his datapad clutched to his chest, his twitching eye fixed on the floor.

Captain Panaka watched them go, his hand still resting near his blaster. His gaze met Sabé's for a fraction of a second before he turned his attention to the chamber's other exits.

From the gallery, Amidala observed the Skakoan aide's departure until the side door to the Naboo delegation's private chamber sealed shut. Amidala removed the simple headdress, the stark makeup feeling tight on her skin. She placed the small holoprojector on the table. The room's single light panel cast a sterile white glow.

Captain Panaka remained by the door, his posture rigid. "They will refuse."

"We know that," Amidala said, her voice low. She looked at Sabé, who was carefully adjusting the heavy sleeves of the queen's robe. "But their refusal will tell us what we need. If they balk at withdrawing even half their ships while getting the money they claim to want, then the recording is correct. This isn't about trade."

Senator Palpatine stood by the viewport, his back to the room. "They will counter. They will accept the compensation, agree in principle to the supply shipments, but argue that the military withdrawals must wait for a finalized treaty."

Sabé's hands stilled on the fabric. "A counter to our counter. They will attempt to split the difference."

"They will attempt to keep the knife at our throat," Amidala corrected. She turned to Palpatine. "Senator, you said Gunray answers to someone else. The aide said 'the one we do not name.' If our offer exposes that person's priority, what is your assessment of their most likely response?"

Palpatine did not turn from the viewport. His reflection in the transparisteel was a pale, serious oval. "They have two paths. They can accept your terms, secure their financial victory, and lose their primary point of leverage—the suffering of our people. Or they can reject the military concessions, revealing that the blockade's purpose extends beyond profit into coercion." He finally faced her. "Given the recording's content, I believe they will choose the latter."

Amidala turned to Sabé. The handmaiden's white makeup made her eyes seem darker, more intense. "If they refuse the full terms," she said, her voice quiet but precise, "we accept a temporary compromise. We pull back our demand for a full blockade reduction. We accept their counter—the shipments begin, but the Lucrehulks stay."

Captain Panaka's jaw tightened. He said nothing.

Sabé's head tilted slightly. "We give them the compensation they want, and in return we get only food and medicine. We leave their military advantage intact."

"We restore the shipments immediately," Amidala said. She held Sabé's gaze. "That buys our people time. And it buys us time. The recording hints at a benefactor. If we push too hard now, we may never learn who that is." The sterile light of the private chamber painted Sabé's face as she listened. Her hands, still gloved, rested on the heavy fabric of the queen's robe draped over the back of a chair. "A temporary compromise," she repeated, her voice devoid of the queen's modulation. "They keep the knife at our throat, but they feed us while they hold it."

"Precisely," Amidala said. She began to pace, the simple handmaiden's tunic whispering against the polished floor. "Their priority is the treaty. The legal shield. If we offer them the compensation and drop the demand for a military withdrawal, they may accept the shipments as a gesture of goodwill. A way to keep us at the table without appearing completely intransigent."

Captain Panaka shifted his weight. "It makes us appear weak. Desperate."

"We are desperate," Amidala shot back, stopping her pacing. Her young face was hard. "We will also stress that their financial incentives only continue as long as negotiations are open and the people of Naboo are receiving food and supplies."

Sabé's eyes moved from Amidala to the heavy robe on the chair. She gave a shallow nod. "I will present it as a phased approach. The compensation is granted. The shipments begin at once. The blockade's status and droid deployments become subjects for the next phase of negotiation, to be resolved before the treaty's final signature."

Palpatine turned from the viewport. "It is a reasonable diplomatic ladder. They can claim the shipments as a concession on their part. We can claim the compensation as ours. Both sides save face, and the talks continue."

Captain Panaka's comlink chimed. He glanced at it. "The Federation delegation is returning. They did not use the full hour."

Amidala replaced the simple headdress, her movements quick and practiced. "Then we are out of time. Sabé, the phased approach. Emphasize the immediacy of the shipments. Everything else is a secondary discussion."

The side door hissed open. Viceroy Gunray reentered first, his steps hurried. The Skakoan aide followed, its environmental suit a bulky silhouette against the bright corridor. Rune Haako trailed them, datapad in hand, his expression unreadable.

Sabé had resumed her place at the circular table, the queen's robes arranged perfectly. She waited until the Neimoidians were seated, until the low hum of the central hologram was the only sound.

"The Naboo delegation," Sabé began, her voice once again the queen's measured instrument, "recognizes the complexities of a full military realignment during active negotiations."

Gunray's yellow eyes flickered with a faint, desperate hope.

"Therefore," Sabé continued, "we propose a phased implementation. All objections to the refinery compensation clauses are withdrawn, effective upon the commencement of daily, verified supply shipments to Naboo's population centers."

The Skakoan aide's vocoder emitted a low, processing hum. The dome helmet turned slowly toward Sabé. "Define 'commencement.'"

"Within the next standard rotation," Sabé said, her gloved hand gesturing toward the hologram of Naboo. "Verified by Republic Judicial observers stationed aboard the supply vessels. The shipments are not contingent upon further negotiation. They begin, and they continue."

Rune Haako's long fingers tapped his datapad. "And the blockade reduction? The droid withdrawals?"

"They become the primary topics for the next phase of these talks," Sabé replied. "To be resolved before any final treaty is signed. The compensation you seek is granted now. The relief our people need begins now. A mutual demonstration of good faith."

Viceroy Gunray's shoulders relaxed a fraction. He looked at the Skakoan aide, then at Haako. The Skakoan aide's vocoder crackled, a sound like static over gravel. "The Techno Union acknowledges the concession on compensation. The shipments may commence under Judicial oversight." The dome helmet tilted toward Gunray. "The blockade's disposition remains a matter for future discussion. As does the security of Federation assets on the surface."

Viceroy Gunray let out a breath that was almost a sigh. "The Federation… accepts this phased approach. Supply vessels will be granted clearance within one standard rotation. Judicial observers will be permitted on a case-by-case basis, pending security screening."

From the Jedi delegation's seats, Mace Windu leaned slightly toward Yoda. "They ceded the compensation demand immediately. That is not the behavior of a body seeking profit. They wanted the ships to move."

Yoda's ears twitched. "Wanted, yes. But not for hunger alone. A distraction, this may be. Or a test."

Plo Koon's masked breathing remained steady. "The Skakoan deferred the blockade reduction to 'future discussion.' They keep their military position intact while giving ground on paper."

Count Dooku sat apart from the Jedi, near Chancellor Valorum and a delegation of various planetary leaders on hand for the summit. His aide, Tal Merrik, stood a pace behind his chair, datapad in hand. Dooku's hand rested on the table near a glass of water that Merrik had placed earlier. He did not look at Merrik, but his fingers remained close to the glass.

"They accepted the queen's offer rather quickly," Dooku said, his voice low, almost idle. "Curious. One might think they were eager to keep the talks moving. Or that someone wanted the blockade reduced without appearing to concede."

Merrik's stylus paused over his datapad. He glanced at Dooku, then away.

Dooku's gaze drifted to the gallery, to the cluster of handmaidens. "The Federation's interests are not always what they seem. Neither are the Republic's." He turned his head slightly toward Merrik, not quite meeting his eyes. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Merrik's voice was soft. "I follow your lead, my lord."

Dooku gave a faint nod. "Yes. You do." He rose from his chair, smoothing his robes. "The hunger will pause. That is something. But the blockade remains."

In the gallery, Amidala watched, her face impassive beneath the handmaiden's makeup. They had taken the bait. The money for food. The military threat remained, but the clock on starvation had been paused.