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Coruscant doesn’t have a sky.
Riyo knows that isn’t technically true. She saw the atmosphere from the shuttle during their descent, a thin blue curve wrapped around the planet beneath the reflected glare of orbital traffic.
From the surface, however, there are only buildings.
Towers rise beyond towers until their upper levels vanish into clouds. Streams of speeders fill the spaces between them, moving along invisible lanes in patterns Riyo can’t begin to follow. Even the landing platform assigned to Pantora’s delegation sits higher than most of the mountains near her family’s estate.
She keeps away from the edge.
Her aide, Liah, notices.
“You can’t fall,” Liah murmurs. “There’s a safety field.”
“I know.”
“You’re standing three meters from it.”
“I’m admiring the architecture.”
“You’re staring at the floor.”
Riyo adjusts her grip on the leather folder beneath her arm and walks toward the Senate transport waiting for them.
This is her first time off Pantora.
She’d imagined leaving home for years. She pictured warmer planets, alien constellations, and cities where snow didn’t collect along every roofline. She never imagined her first journey would happen because Senator Varo passed into the Moon Goddess’s arms before he could train his replacement.
He’d been ill for months, but Pantoran elders treated mortality as a personal insult and discussed succession only when forced.
By the time they were forced, Riyo had received six days of preparation.
Six days to study committee procedures, major factions, trade agreements, military appropriations, and the personal histories of several thousand senators.
Six days to learn how to represent an entire moon.
Her family name had done the rest.
The Chuchi clan is one of Pantora’s oldest political families. Her mother served in the Assembly before Riyo was born. Her grandmother negotiated three territorial accords and once made a chairman apologize publicly, which family records describe with more pride than several wars.
Riyo passed the planetary bar examination at twenty-one. She has spent her life learning law, history, diplomacy, and the complicated art of disagreeing without giving anyone grounds to challenge her clan.
None of that makes her feel ready.
The transport carries them through Coruscant’s upper levels toward the Senate District. Liah points out monuments and government offices through the window while Riyo reviews the speech waiting on her datapad.
It isn’t her speech.
The Assembly wrote it.
The Assembly writes everything.
Pantora supports the Republic’s defense while urging caution in military expenditure. Pantora condemns Separatist aggression while maintaining concern for Outer Rim autonomy. Pantora will vote with the northern trade bloc on the appropriations motion and abstain on the refugee amendment unless instructed otherwise.
The instructions are precise enough to include pauses.
Riyo is expected to deliver the words, cast the correct votes, and avoid creating unnecessary attention.
A senator, but not a voice.
The transport turns, and the Senate Dome fills the window.
Riyo forgets to breathe.
The building is enormous, broader than entire districts back home. Traffic pours toward its landing platforms from every direction. Government vessels share the airspace with diplomatic cruisers, security craft, private shuttles, and military gunships painted in the Republic’s colors.
Liah smiles at her expression. “Still admiring the architecture?”
Riyo closes her mouth. “Quiet.”
The Senate is louder inside than she expected.
Thousands of conversations overlap beneath the vast dome. Droids roll between groups of aides carrying documents. Translators repeat announcements in half a dozen languages. Senators from worlds Riyo has only seen in records pass close enough to touch.
Most barely look at her.
Those who do glance at her traditional Pantoran robes, the golden markings along her face, and the delegation badge on her shoulder before deciding she isn’t important.
Riyo tells herself that’s useful.
Being underestimated can create opportunities.
Her mother says that often.
Her mother has also never been twenty-two years old and alone on Coruscant while representing a world with very little political leverage.
A protocol aide guides Riyo toward the central reception chamber, speaking quickly enough that she catches perhaps two-thirds of the instructions. Her office isn’t ready. Her committee assignments remain provisional. She’ll receive voting access once the credentials office verifies the final Assembly documentation.
“Do you have any questions, Senator Chuchi?” the aide asks.
Riyo has at least thirty.
“No, thank you.”
The aide departs before she finishes speaking.
Liah looks at her.
Riyo pretends not to notice.
A group of armored soldiers stands near the entrance to the reception chamber.
Clones.
They’re hard to miss.
Their armor is almost entirely white, marked with identical sections of deep red. Every helmet has the same narrow visor, and every trooper stands with precisely the same posture. Blaster rifles rest against their chests at matching angles.
The official reports say the Coruscant Guard was formed in June to replace portions of CorSec and provide military security for the Senate.
The reports also describe the clones as standardized personnel.
Looking at them, Riyo understands why.
Then one of the soldiers turns toward another.
The movement is slight, but the second clone answers with an equally small tilt of his helmet. It feels like a conversation conducted beneath the notice of everyone passing them.
Riyo looks closer.
Their armor isn’t completely identical. One has additional red paint along his shoulder and helmet. Another has a strip across one forearm. The soldier near the door wears markings that seem more elaborate than the rest.
Sergeants, she assumes.
She has no idea how clone ranks work.
The Assembly briefing reduced the entire Grand Army to three paragraphs, two budget projections, and a warning not to become involved in debates concerning military personhood.
Riyo had asked why.
The senior clerk told her the issue was politically dangerous.
That answer hadn’t explained anything, but it had made the command very clear.
A woman in dark senatorial robes approaches before Riyo can study the clones further.
“Senator Chuchi?”
Riyo straightens. “Yes.”
“I’m Mon Mothma of Chandrila.”
Riyo recognizes her immediately and hates that surprise probably shows on her face.
Senator Mothma is younger than most of Pantora’s Assembly members, but she already commands a level of respect Riyo can’t imagine possessing. Her speeches appear regularly in political journals, usually followed by several pages of angry commentary from military hardliners.
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Riyo says.
Mothma smiles. “I served with Senator Varo on the refugee appropriations committee. I was very sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Thank you. His family has entered the traditional mourning year.”
“And you’ve inherited a difficult position.”
Riyo can’t tell whether it’s sympathy or warning.
“Pantora is grateful for the opportunity to continue his work.”
The sentence comes directly from an Assembly briefing.
It sounds hollow the moment she says it.
Mothma’s expression doesn’t change, but her gaze sharpens as though she recognizes borrowed words when she hears them.
Before Riyo can recover, another senator joins them.
Padmé Amidala is dressed less elaborately than Riyo expected from a former queen, though every detail is too precise to be accidental. Bail Organa follows beside her, speaking with an ease that suggests the three of them have known each other for years.
Riyo feels suddenly, painfully young.
“Senator Chuchi,” Padmé says. “Welcome to Coruscant.”
“Thank you, Senator Amidala.”
“This is Senator Organa.”
“We met briefly during the Pantoran trade summit,” Bail says.
Riyo’s stomach drops.
She’d been seventeen and seated behind her mother for most of that summit. She hadn’t expected him to remember her existence.
“Yes, Senator. You spoke in favor of the medical transit agreement.”
“And your legal analysis rescued the final draft after the delegates spent six hours arguing over one sentence.”
Riyo blinks.
Liah makes a tiny, smug sound beside her.
“That was a minor contribution,” Riyo says.
“It was the contribution that got the agreement signed,” Bail replies.
Riyo doesn’t know what to do with praise from someone outside her family.
She settles for lowering her head. “Thank you.”
Padmé glances toward the folder beneath Riyo’s arm. “Your first session?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“The folder.”
Riyo looks down.
Every other senator carries a datapad.
She’s clutching enough printed material to defend herself from an assassin.
“My predecessor preferred physical records.”
“So did mine,” Bail says. “You’ll learn which traditions are worth preserving and which ones exist because nobody has questioned them recently.”
That sounds almost rebellious.
Riyo likes him immediately.
Mothma gestures toward the reception chamber. “We’re meeting before the support committee convenes. You’re welcome to join us.”
Riyo’s first instinct is to check her instructions.
The Assembly schedule says she should meet with representatives from the northern trade bloc. It says nothing about Mothma, Amidala, or Organa, all of whom are known for advocating reforms Pantora traditionally avoids discussing in public.
The correct answer is to decline politely.
Riyo looks through the open doors.
The clone guards remain beside them, silent while politicians pass without acknowledgment. One senator hands an empty cup to the nearest trooper without looking at him.
The clone accepts it.
For a second, Riyo assumes he must be helping.
Then she sees the waste receptacle less than a meter from the senator’s hand.
The trooper carries the cup away.
Nobody else seems to notice.
Riyo looks back at the three senators waiting for her answer.
She should follow the Assembly’s plan.
She should avoid alliances until Pantora’s position is secure.
She should not make choices before consulting people several light-years away.
“I’d be honored to join you,” she says.
The words leave her mouth before fear can pull them back.
Mothma smiles.
Padmé steps aside to make room for her.
Bail begins explaining which committee chairs are worth listening to and which only enjoy hearing their own voices amplified by Senate acoustics.
Riyo follows them into the chamber.
She keeps the Assembly’s prepared speech beneath her arm.
For the first time since landing, it doesn’t feel quite as heavy.