No doubt the present miners would have given much to work in the conditions their predecessors had found so objectionable. Before, the miners of Onoam had wanted to be treated more fairly; now, they wanted to be acknowledged as human beings. As the cargo lift with the first load of equipment sank lower into the shaft, light became a rarer resource; the scanty illumination down here was hardly enough to work by, and no more than that. Heavy dust seemed to hang in the air. Leia coughed more than once, and Dalné’s snowy makeup had already begun to look dingy. This couldn’t be a safe environment for them or for anyone.
But only sentients were allowed to mine for medicinal spice. Droids could be too easily hacked or hijacked to smuggle out amounts sufficient for cooking into new, more potent substances—in other words, illegal ones. Humans could cheat too, but they were rarely as skilled at it, and other motivations could keep them honest. Leia would have thought the best of these motivations would be a fair wage, good working conditions, and a sense of community and camaraderie.
Palpatine preferred to “motivate” through cruelty and terror.
When at last they’d sunk to the deepest level of the mine for the equipment, a small group of miners waited for their royal visitors. They might have been any other committee come to greet a visiting dignitary if it weren’t for the handful of stormtroopers milling around in the background, one for every exit.
Dalné’s protocol droid announced them, then gestured at one tall, skinny man and said, “Brel Ti Vorne, designated representative of the miners.”
“My queen,” Ti Vorne said, bowing to his queen first, as was proper. But he turned his attention to Leia immediately after. “Princess Leia of Alderaan, we receive you with gratitude.”
“You’ll receive something more useful than a princess.” She gestured to the crates coming in by hoverdroid. “We’ve brought supplies for five hundred miners: safety belts, atmosphere masks, portable force fields that can purify the air, and a few other things I thought you might need.”
She expected smiles, or at least nods of acknowledgement. Instead, Ti Vorne’s face fell, and the miners behind him shuffled from foot to foot and murmured among themselves.
Queen Dalné said, “These gifts trouble you. May we ask why?”
“If you need other things more urgently,” Leia hastily added, “I’ll try to get those too. Just tell me what they are.”
Ti Vorne shook his head. “These items would make our labors much easier, Your Highness.”
Would. Not will. She cast a surreptitious glance toward the nearest stormtroopers; they didn’t appear to be paying any particular attention, but behind those helmets, who could tell? So Leia stepped closer to Ti Vorne and pitched her voice lower. “They can’t hear us. Tell me the truth.”
He hesitated a moment longer, so uncertain she nearly took back what she’d said, but finally Ti Vorne sighed. “You may give the equipment to us, Your Highness. We may even be allowed to use some of it, at least for a shift or two. But eventually everything will be taken away—as a punishment, or because the equipment’s supposedly ‘defective,’ or we’ll be told it was lost. Something like that. We’d managed to save up for a few things of our own, every now and then, until we realized they’d all meet the same fate. The Imperial major in charge of the mine sells them off and pockets the profit.”
Leia could hardly speak for her indignation. “What—they—that’s criminal!”
Ti Vorne shrugged. “Not if the one in charge does it.”
“No, because then it’s even worse. Then it’s—it’s just—total poodoo.”
That made Ti Vorne’s eyes go wide, and Queen Dalné choked back a laugh. So much for diplomatic language.
“Forgive me,” Leia said with as much grace as she could retrieve. “Your plight upsets me, and moves me to action.”
“Then you’re already better than most, Your Highness.” Ti Vorne had a curious expression on his face—as if he were even more afraid of his next words. But all he said after that was, “We’ve reached out to others recently. Including some we thought might take action for us. Nothing yet.”
Leia clasped her hands in front of her. “Then let me do what I can for you. Please accept these gifts on behalf of all the miners. I intend to find a way to ensure that this time you keep them.”
“We both shall,” Queen Dalné added, with a force in her voice Leia hadn’t heard from her before.
Ti Vorne’s smile was sad. He didn’t blame them, but he didn’t believe them, either. “Your goodwill is a gift in itself.”
Shortly afterward, when Leia and Dalné were rising from the catastrophic bloom of the mines on the cargo lift, Leia muttered, “They can’t eat goodwill. Can’t breathe it, either.”
“We all know of Imperial corruption.” Dalné sounded miserable. In the brief time they’d spent underground, her facial makeup had been rendered almost entirely gray by the disgusting dust. “It reaches everywhere. But not even I realized it dug so far underground.”
“Is there anything you can do? Any—old rule, or ceremonial duty, that lets you step in?”
Dalné thought for so long that Leia assumed she was mostly coming up with a tactful way to say nothing could be done. Then she snapped her fingers. “I can demand an audience with higher officials. The provincial governor himself has a chalet here on Onoam; I think he might even be visiting now.”
“That’s—Moff Quarsh Panaka, yes?”
“Yes. He’s a native of Naboo, so it’s not like going to an offworlder. And for all he turns a blind eye, he’s not corrupt himself.” Dalné hesitated. “He is personally loyal to Palpatine.”
That loyalty made him dangerous, but—“We should give him a chance. Honest Imperial officials are pretty rare. It would be a shame to waste one.”
Having something important to do had clearly invigorated Dalné. Much too cheerfully, given the risks, she said, “Shall I request an immediate audience, then?”
Leia nodded. “I think it’s time I met Panaka.”
Moff Panaka’s office granted the queen of Naboo and her guest an audience—though the only window they offered was that same day, very soon. Leia wondered whether the moff’s underlings hoped to avoid the queen’s request by simply ensuring she arrived late.
To complicate matters, Leia needed to change clothing. Her simple white gown suited most occasions, or it had, before she’d worn it down in the belly of a mine. Although she tried to convince herself that walking into the audience grimy and gray would make a strong point about mining conditions, she couldn’t do it. Apparently 2V’s constant admonitions about looking her best had sunk in. So they found the time to fly to Dalné’s home on Onoam, where sumptuous royal finery was available in abundance.
I’m never going to tell TooVee about this, Leia decided as she slipped into one of the queen’s gowns. She’d gloat for days.
She had borrowed the simplest dress on offer, another one in white, but the simplest dress of a ruler of Naboo remained ornate in the extreme. Pale pink and yellow veils fell in layers from the cape, and a white net stretched behind her head like a ruff. The effect was beautiful, but to Leia’s eyes, extravagant.
“This is traditional dress,” Dalné insisted as she fluffed the veils cascading over Leia’s shoulders. “Queens and other high officials wear this at times of rejoicing. It’s appropriate to wear when first meeting a dignitary; that way, you’re signaling that you expect negotiations to be successful.”