Ten Years Pass ...
And so begins Book 2 of Kaki Olsen's Wife of Deceit
PROLOGUE
Each time she emerged from the darkness alive, it was something of a disappointment. Carbon-freezing was not a typical form of containment, but it was a near-death experience that the guards had thought to be very persuasive.
In the beginning, it had been in making her talk. Once she had stopped screaming in fright and pain and the tremors of hibernation sickness had set in, she had babbled about everything from the family's summer home in Aldera to the favorite candy of Jos Dewon from her last third-period political science course. That had earned her stinging blows to the cheeks and shoulders, but it was such a relief to be able to feel anything other than the cold fire of carbonite that she had barely noticed.
She could not tell how long they waited before trying again. The freeze-blindness had passed, but that only meant that she could see light through the blindfold when they brought her to the freezing chamber once more.
The first few times, she had regained her strength quickly, but it became more and more difficult over time. She supposed this was a combined effect of the hibernation sickness and the fact that they had given up on keeping her well-fed. She kept her muscles from atrophying by moving around the cell when she was awake. Sometimes, she could do nothing more than crawl pathetically from one corner of the cramped space to the other. At other times, she was strong enough to stand upright and make it across the ten feet to the wall that was opposite her sleeping pallet.
This time, she awoke to the familiar tremors and nausea, but the setting was completely unfamiliar. She could feel a mattress at her back instead of the stone floor and a blanket had been pulled up to her chest. She heard a whir of machinery and a steady beeping that put her in mind of medical monitors.
Her throat burned with thirst and she instinctively attempted to lick her lips, but something hard and cold was blocking her tongue's path.
“Doctor, the prisoner is awake.”
Her eyes flew open to take in the darkness, confirming their assessment. She attempted to reach for the breathing tube, but she was bound hand and foot and the binders only dug into her wrists until the pain and the limited range of motion stopped her.
“Prisoner, you were intubated to help you breathe. Do you want it removed?”
She nodded wearily, letting her hands fall back to rest at her sides.
“On my mark, breathe out hard ...”
A few moments later, the thing dragged free of her throat and she coughed violently enough to make herself gag. Something was shoved beneath her chin, but she only vomited stomach acid. They had not fed her recently enough for anything else to come up. Her ribs, still cracked from the interrogation that had preceded the carbon-freezing, protested at the abuse and she slumped back with her breath coming in whimpers.
“You were in respiratory and cardiac arrest,” the doctor said patiently as if it were her fault. “We have stabilized you, but I will not release you until you are in no immediate danger.”
“That's not your call to make,” the same guard snapped.
“She has valuable information and she's still being stubborn,” another added.
“If she is so valuable to your master, he will not mind if we take a few precautions to keep her alive,” the doctor reasoned.
Her first reaction was to feel relieved that she had been saved. It was a foolish, naïve response, but her mind was still clouded by the haze of hibernation sickness.
The guards were still arguing over the doctor's authority to hold a prisoner when her mind caught up to her emotions. Instead of relief, she felt cheated that she had come that close to the brink and been pulled back against her will once more. If she had not forbidden herself from crying long ago, she might have wept bitterly now. She instead closed her eyes and waited for the darkness to claim her once more.
The doctor's hand landed on her arm. “If you give her time to recover,” he reasoned in conclusion, “she may be clear-headed enough to cooperate.”
“I doubt that,” the first guard snorted. “It's never worked before.”
To be fair, he was correct. To be truthful, he had never really tried that tactic.
“She has never come this close to dying before,” the doctor insisted. “If necessary, I will take this up with your superiors.”
“Be my guest,” the other invited. “Stalh, stay with her. I'll be back with the prisoner transfer order.”
The door hissed shut behind him and the doctor leaned closer. “Cooperate,” he urged. “Surely you don't want to die.”
It was an absurd question to ask of someone whose entire life was comprised of waiting for the next torture section. The man was either delusional or thought that she had something that would make it worth the effort to fight off death.
“No, sir,” she rasped. “Killing me is the least evil they could do.”
***
Book 2: Taken for Granted
Eight years previously
Chapter 1
“Look on the bright side,” Delani said cheerfully. “There was no chance he would forget your anniversary.”
Amne sipped at the glass of water and cast a longing look across the room. Somewhere in that cluster of advisors and managers was the man she had married ten years ago today.
“I know,” she sighed. “I just had hoped that we would have some privacy on our anniversary.”
“You will,” Jes assured her. “Once the votes have been tallied and the speeches have been made and you've attended all six of the victory receptions ...”
The thought of what lay ahead made her stomach lurch in a way that was usually reserved for her morning trip to the 'fresher.
“Please,” she begged, “don't mention the speeches.”
“I mentioned them to Michel,” Delani said. “It was quite fun to see his panic attack.”
Michel was the twenty-three-year-old with a vocabulary that put a thesaurus to shame and a nervous tic when a deadline approached. He also had the unfortunate tendency to notice that Amne's younger sister had grown out of her awkward phase. She had accomplished this feat just before enrolling in the University of the Republic's graduate music composition program and it was quite disconcerting. There were few things more obnoxious than a staff speech writer, but a staff speech writer with a crush was one of them.
“Be kind,” Amne requested. “We were hoping that he would be alive to help with the inaugural address.”
As a precaution, she caught Nena's arm as she passed. “Find Michel, please, and make sure he's still breathing,” she requested.
Nena retreated with her commlink in hand and Amne turned back to her friends. “Thank you for being here,” she said quietly. “I'm sure you have plenty of things that you would rather do.”
“Yrin's out of town,” Jes replied, “and Delani enjoys this sort of thing.”
“Only because some of the political types are handsome when they're frantic,” Delani countered. “Not including your husband, of course.”
“Of course,” Amne said. “He's handsome even when he's not frantic.”
Both of them rolled their eyes, but Amne was spending her tenth anniversary waiting on exit polls and worrying about election results. They were more accommodating when she was in this sort of state.
“Besides,” Delani added, “we're your friends and this is important to you. We'll be here until you or the Senate Guard throw us out.”
Nena returned with her usual efficiency. “He's in the staff dining room with bread, water and an oxygen mask on hand, milady,” Nena reported. “If you'd like, I can send Vali down there to cheer him up.”
“No!” all three of them chorused.
“Excuse me,” Sheev interrupted from behind Nena.
Amne straightened her back, suddenly more alert than she had felt all day. “News?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have bribed my advisors and they have agreed to let me have some alone time with my wife on my anniversary.”
Amne accepted his outstretched hand and got to her feet with some difficulty. “If you'll excuse me ...”
“Go,” Jes insisted. “We'll keep Vali out of trouble.”
The guard force was doubled for tonight, with guardsmen coming in from various consulates and embassies. At the opponents' headquarters, it would undoubtedly be the same, but the incumbent Chancellor and his First Lady were more than familiar with such formalities. This was the second election night that they had spent at the consulate rather than the Chancellor’s Mansion and they had learned to take advantage of the suite set aside for them during the first election. Whether one of them needed to sleep between staff meetings or if they simply needed to avoid the public eye for a while, they could enjoy solitude only one hundred yards from the Office of Political Affairs.
Sheev pulled her in for a hard kiss the moment the door closed. She lay her hand alongside his jaw, holding him to her a little longer than usual.
“I'm sorry,” Sheev said quietly once he had pulled back. “I am surrounded by intolerable analysts who think it is my duty to know when there is any change in the numbers.”
“I hadn't noticed,” Amne teased. “Thank you for escaping.”
He guided her to the bed, but left her there once she had sat on the edge. A moment later, he returned from the ensuite office with two elegantly wrapped boxes.
“I've been neglecting this,” he apologized, “but I have to admit I am being fairly optimistic.”
“How so?”
He handed over both of the boxes before taking a seat next to her and wrapping one arm around her waist. “I was hoping you would wear these to the victory celebration.”
“That's not optimism,” she pointed out. “The Senate and citizens of the Republic have already elected you. There are all indications that they will do it again.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “After six months of encouraging speeches, I would appreciate it if you allowed yourself a respite tonight.”
She sighed and removed the flimsiplast wrapping from the first box to find a chalcedony-and-silver necklace. After a satisfied kiss, Sheev set to work fastening it around her neck and Amne opened the second box. As soon as she lifted the lid, she caught her breath.
“It may be loose now,” he murmured as she lifted the gown from the box, “but I looked for something you could wear comfortably for the next five months as well as tonight.”
She doubted it would last that long. At sixteen weeks into her first pregnancy, she was despairing of finding anything other than a marquis to fit her. Still, the floor-length red gown had enough fabric that it might prove her wrong.
“It's beautiful,” she sighed. “Let me put it on and then I'll find your gift.”
Amne heard the quiet knock on the door as she was adjusting the fit of the long, sheer sleeves. She could not make out the words, but the visitor was in high spirits. Sheev responded in a calmer tone.
She emerged from the room to find Sheev closing the door behind Michel. “News?” She echoed her earlier question.
“Senator Turind is on the comm, waiting to speak with me,” he said gravely.
That could only mean that he was calling to concede the election. She allowed herself a broad smile and extended the foil-wrapped gift.
“I should give this to you then, before all of the excitement,” she suggested.
He unwrapped the holocube and activated it. “It's a recording of the scan done yesterday,” she explained before he could pose a question. “I thought you might want a picture of your sons.”
He inhaled sharply at the revelation. “Sons,” he murmured with a hint of pride in his voice. “The doctor confirmed it?”
Amne nodded. “They're both healthy and strong by all accounting, like their father.”
He set the holocube aside and drew her into his arms for a kiss that was much more gentle and patient than the last two. She anchored him to her with both arms so that they were only separated by their children.
“It is a most appropriate gift,” he commended her.
Another knock on the door sounded and he sighed. “That will be Tanaka,” he muttered. “I will see you in the OPA?”
“I'll be there, waiting for the news,” she confirmed.
They parted ways reluctantly at the door, but Delani was just inside the headquarters, looking impatient. She hooked her arm through Amne's and steered her back to the repulsorcouch they had been sharing.
“Great outfit,” she commented brusquely. “They said there might be news?”
“His opponent commed,” Amne explained quietly. “Either the man is trying to bully him into dropping out of the race or, more likely, he is calling to concede the election.”
“Wow,” Jes said. “I thought the man would put up more of a fight.”
Amne's smile turned bittersweet. “It's nearly midnight. I think he's put up a great deal of fight and I think Senator Turind is just as eager to put an end to this as I am.”
“How did Sheev like his gift?” Delani asked.
“He said there was no more appropriate gift,” Amne responded, taking another fortifying drink of water.
“Well, that's romantic,” Jes snorted.
Amne chuckled. “He is about to win the election for leader of the free galaxy for the second time in a row,” she pointed out. “There are a few things on his mind. I'll save romantic for later.”
Before either of them could object to that, the door opened and the guard called out a greeting.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the newly re-elected Supreme Chancellor of the Republic!”
*****
By 0300, most of the festivities had ended. The toasts had been made in praise of everyone from the student interns to the opponent's wife. By the time those had ended, the consulate staff had smuggled in enough food to feed the entire Jedi Order and someone put on music suitable for dancing.
Eventually, the food and energy had run out and all the people left in the OPA were campaign staffers too euphoric and too exhausted to do much except talk about the high points of the election. The unfortunate part was that while Sheev attempted to share this victory with her, he had received repeated requests for meetings from the people who had not been running themselves ragged for the last year. He had deferred most of them, but Amne eventually gave him leave to take care of business and settled down to enjoy the post-victory daze with her two best friends.
“I think it's about time that I got to bed,” Amne suggested pointedly some time later.
Jes squinted blearily at her chrono. “Come on,” she yawned. “It's only 0400 and it's not as if we have jobs to do or children to raise tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Delani muttered. “Isi can take care of her sister and I'm sure Intelligence work goes more smoothly when you fall asleep on the job.”
Jes nudged her playfully with her bare foot. “Fine,” she said. “I'll take care of your girls and you can save the Republic. I'm sure your job isn't hard at all.”
“Wait,” Amne protested. “Isn't anyone going to offer to take my job?”
The other two exchanged slightly worried glances before Delani replied, “I don't know. What exactly is it that you do these days?”
“I think it has something to do with kissing babies, applauding on cue and giving speeches about the need for Republican unity,” Jes guessed.
“That was during the campaign,” Delani pointed out. “Now, I think she's in charge of applauding on cue, looking hologenic in refugee camps and picking out a new bedspread for the master bedroom in the mansion.”
“You're both horrible,” Amne sniffed with an attempt at wounded pride. “Why do I keep you as friends again?”
“Because no one else in their right mind would still love you this much after the second election,” Jes said flatly. “You should be quite proud of us.”
“I am grateful,” Amne assured them. “I just don't think that I've earned this abuse.”
“She may be right,” Delani admitted with a broad grin. “My apologies.”
“We'll make it up tomorrow over lunch,” Jes promised.
Her brother either had a sixth sense or picked up on an unspoken signal. The moment that they decided to call it a night, Jov appeared behind her.
“Are we about done here?” he asked.
“I don't know,” Jes teased. “Are you sure you've argued with every person in the room?”
Jov had been a political science professor before Bail Organa had hired him as counsel to the Alderaanian delegation. It was his habit as chief of staff to the Alderaanian delegation to talk politics with everything that breathed. It worked out well, since Jes tended to linger over conversations of an entirely different sort.
“I let a few of the senior staff members escape,” he said with a grin.
“Then I think we can slip out quietly,” she assured him.
“I'll do the same,” Delani added as she leaned over to give Amne one last hug. “Lares has strange ideas about the babysitter getting home before dawn.”
Jes gave her a hug of her own once she'd found her shoes. “Congratulations again,” she said. “We'll probably do this again in four years.”
The mere mention of that made her stomach turn. Thank Taia it was unconstitutional. Not for the first time, she wished Sheev would decide that public service had lost its charm. It was a familiar sentiment that usually accompanied elections and major crises.
“Let me focus on getting through this week,” Amne requested. “Thinking four years ahead is beyond me.”
“And you'll be asleep soon?” Delani suggested pointedly.
“Once I've found my husband.”
“Follow the Senate guard,” Jes suggested. “He's the tired-looking man surrounded by about two hundred lobbyists. You can't miss him.”
Amne followed them to the door of the OPA and then turned left to the conference center adjoining the main room. Jes had exaggerated the number, but not by much. Sheev glanced up as if he sensed her coming and offered her a weary smile.
“Gentlemen,” he said to the assembled group, “I don't mean to be rude, but we have four years before us once again. Can we leave all further discussions of the political agenda until the morning?”
“Yes, Chancellor,” his chief of staff said hurriedly, standing up. “Thank you for your time.”
There was a general rumble of conversation as the others thanked him, but he cut through the crowd and offered an arm without further comment. Amne slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and turned to let him lead her from the office.
Even at this early hour, there were holoshills out and about, waiting for the incumbent Chancellor to emerge from the consulate. They immediately bellowed questions, but Sheev stood his ground and waited for the din to die down.
“I will not take any more questions,” he said firmly. “There will be a press conference in regards to this term's political agenda at 1100 today. For now, we have both earned a good night's rest and are eager to return home. Thank you.”
Without further comment, he let the guards part the crowd and they passed through to the speeder. The blaster-proof windows blocked out the commotion and Amne sighed in relief as she settled in comfortably next to him.
“Four hours constitutes a good night's rest now?” she challenged.
He turned a wry smile on her. “Relatively speaking,” he responded. “It's more than the average time during the campaign.”
“I never approved of that, either,” she pointed out.
He brushed her cheek with a kiss. “I suppose it would be bad form to say that I'll do better this term?”
“It would be reasonable,” she countered, sliding her hand down his arm to take his hand. “You have four years to change your ways.”
It went without saying that some things never changed. One them was the staff's fundamental inability to understand the candidate's need for sleep. It was as reliable a flaw as Sheev's tendency to overextend himself.
They rode in silence for a few more minutes, reasonably certain they had said enough to last a lifetime.
“I arranged a trade summit on Alderaan about an hour ago,” he said conversationally. “Do you think your family would object to our visiting?”
She smiled. It was not quite the vacation they had threatened to take since the beginning of the campaign, but it was close enough. She had not been to visit her family since finding out about the pregnancy, and while Sheev would be likely to spend half the time in meetings, she could take some personal time.
“I think I could arrange that,” she agreed. “How long would we be there?”
“One week,” he supplied, lifting her hand to his lips. “Would that please you?”
“It would please me a great deal,” she replied enthusiastically.
The speeder pulled into the private hangar at the Chancellor’s Mansion and she loosened her grip, getting ready to precede him from the vehicle. Instead, his hand tightened around hers and she turned back to find him watching her intently.
“This is the second time we have stood victorious at the end of an election,” he said quietly. “Many things change over the years, but on each occasion, I am reminded that I could have no greater person at my side.”
“Nor I,” she replied honestly.
“And I am proud that you will stand by my side in victory this one final term,” he added.
He pulled her in for a kiss that went on until several moments after the speeder came to a stop and the door opened. After some time, she pulled away and arched an eyebrow.
“We have four more years here,” she reiterated. “For now, let's go home.”
Notes:
This section needed alteration because at the time it was written, Kaki was assuming a Chancellor’s term was two years. In Star Wars canon, it turned out to be four.
Kaki has one last book out!
She had said a friend asked her for help on this one because Kaki played the violin, and she was so much help the friend gave her a coauthor credit. But I did not know the book was finished or that it was coming out so soon. So, here it is … one last published original book by Kaki.
A blast from the past …
