Starfighters of Adumar

by Aaron Allston

  “Sure.” Wedge looked down into Iella’s eyes, tried to gauge her reaction. But her expression offered little but sleepy contentment. There was no concern, no jealousy to be seen in them.

  Wedge joined Cheriss toward the front of the compartment. They held on to the rings in the framework to steady themselves against the craft’s motion.

  When Cheriss spoke, her voice was barely loud enough for him to hear over the engine’s roar and the whistling of wind through rivet holes. “I just wanted to say… you were right and I was wrong.”

  “That’s a hard admission,” Wedge said. “It tries to stick in my throat whenever I’m obliged to offer it.”

  She managed a faint smile. “I didn’t really understand it after I woke up on your big ship. My injury was almost healed and I knew I had nothing left to me—my title lost, the perator’s regard for me lost, your regard for me probably lost—”

  “No.”

  “Let me talk. But I couldn’t concentrate on all that because the medics kept asking me questions. How my wound felt. What I might be allergic to. Other conditions I had that were medical in nature. I told them of my dizziness with heights…”

  Wedge was surprised to see tears form in her eyes. She wiped them away and continued, “They scanned my head and took my blood to look for chemicals in it, and decided that it was a chemical imbalance. They gave me a drug. Half an hour later I stood on the top walkway of your starfighter landing bay, over the great distance to the floor where the starfighters landed, even over the gap they flew out of—I could see all the way down to the clouds of Adumar’s skies, and I felt not even a twinge. All I have to do is take a chemical once every few days. I can learn to fly.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  “Yes… though I could not even make the medics understand that. To them, it was such a little thing. A diagnosis, a chemical, and their patient could be set aside and a new one brought in. For me, it was years of knowing I could never be anything in Cartann, suddenly swept away… and to those who helped me, it was nothing more than a minor task, successfully accomplished. I was almost angry with them for not understanding.

  “And that’s when I knew. If I had died the other day at the perator’s court, I could not even be resentful. I could never enjoy this thing, which is a few grains of chemicals to your medics and a miracle to me. So I understood that you were right. To throw away my life would have been dishonorable. It was the choice of a stupid girl. Someone I hope I no longer am.”

  “Having seen this, you have only one choice.”

  “Which is what?”

  “To live your life well. To find a purpose and pursue it.”

  “I want to be a pilot,” she said. “Not for Cartann. Not for Adumar. For your New Republic.”

  “If I’m still alive in a few days, I’ll see what I can do to help you.”

  “I also wanted to say…” Her glance flicked to Iella and back to Wedge. “I wanted to wish you and your lady every happiness.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I—I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Let me say something, then. One last piece of advice. Cheriss, you’re always going to be too young for something important to you, too old for something else, and the timing is just not going to be right for a third set of things. That’s life, and you can make yourself crazy by dwelling on that. Or you can figure out what you are the right age for, and what the timing is right for, and celebrate those things. Where do you suppose happiness lies?”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.”

  He rejoined Iella and strapped himself back in, then wrapped his arm around her.

  “All settled?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “If I can ask, what was it all about?”

  “She’s just growing up. She’s come along two, maybe three years since the other night.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Maybe we can figure out how to build a weapon out of the process and shoot Wes a few times.”

  His eyes still closed, Janson said, “I heard that.”

  The briefing room where Wedge and company met the rulers of the Yedagon Confederacy was unlike anything they had seen in the city of Cartann. It was a circular chamber, half bounded by curving wall, half by a succession of ornate columns beyond which were close-cut grasses and artistically spaced trees. The portion of the room bounded by columns was open to the sky, though Wedge could see a panel at the edge of the ceiling of the room’s other half that suggested some sort of light cover could be mechanically extended as a roof.

  The floor and tables in the chamber were of a marblelike stone, the floor textured so that feet did not slip upon it; Wedge prodded at it with his toe to find that it was indeed solid, not the sort of cushiony cover that seemed to decorate every surface in Cartann.

  Light winds stirred in the chamber. The place was airy and well lit, with no corners for skulking, no shadows to hide within. A vast improvement over what we’ve been enjoying, Wedge decided as he seated himself.

  On the other side of the central table from him, Escalion, the perator of the Confederacy, settled into position. “I will be brief,” he said. “You are a military man and doubtless have no taste for roundabout talk or circuitous approaches to the subject.”

  “Thank you,” Wedge said, and studied the man. Yedagon’s perator was also in contrast to Cartann’s. Of average height, he was dark of hair and beard but pale of skin. The contrast gave his features the appearance of intensity even when he was at ease. He was a few years older than Wedge, and his physical condition seemed to be as good as Wedge’s; the musculature of his upper body suggested regular exercise or workouts and his waist was flat. His uniform was a spotless white, reminiscent of an Imperial Grand Admiral’s uniform except for the elaborate purple scrollery traced down the outside of his sleeves and trouser legs and the bank of medals and campaign markers on his chest—each a different size, shape, and color, decorations that the orderly Imperials would find offensive in the extreme.

  “If it is your wish,” Escalion said, “we would be happy to provide you transport to your orbital vessel. Your public refusal to fall in with Cartann’s military aggression indebts us to you that far, and more. But we would like to present you with another alternative. A request.”

  “You want me to fly with your forces against Cartann.”

  “No,” Escalion said. “To lead them. All of them.”

  Wedge leaned back. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to put an entire nation’s military force in the hands of a man who has only the vaguest familiarity with it.”

  “You misunderstand me,” Escalion said. “I’m not talking about one nation. I’m in constant communication with the ruler of Halbegardia, and she is in agreement. We wish you to lead the united forces of all nations arrayed against Cartann.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have done things on Adumar that are unprecedented. You have demonstrated piloting skills that surpass our best—your four-pilot unit shot down thirty opponents last night, lest we forget. You have sought to teach rather than accumulate honor at a cost of blood and lives. You have defied the most powerful man on Adumar and survived his wrath. All of which is only part of the answer.” He leaned forward over the table, his expression genuinely intent. “It is my belief, and the belief of my advisors and Halbegardia’s, that if it is known that you lead our combined forces against Cartann, many other nations will join us. Nations currently neutral, or siding with Cartann because they know they cannot withstand a direct attack by that nation, will join us, giving us a chance to win. Or at least be defeated in an honorable struggle rather than a massacre.”

  Wedge glanced among the others arrayed around his table. The members of his own party wore carefully neutral expressions. The six advisors Escalion had brought—men and women in uniforms similar to his—were more demonstrative, nodding as he made his points, turning eager and expectant eyes to Wedge.

  “Fro
m what I’ve learned,” Wedge said, “if I calculate things correctly, if every nation not under Cartann’s direct control were to join us, we’d still have a united force about two-thirds the size of Cartann’s.”

  Escalion nodded “Though even that number is optimistically misleading. Cartann’s equipment is better than ours. For our fighter corps, we have fewer Blade-Thirty-twos than they do. Less than half our fighter fleet, in fact; we rely largely on older models.”

  “So, optimistically, we would, under the best of circumstances, have half their strength or less.”

  “Correct.”

  “I’ll need a few minutes to think about this.”

  Escalion nodded and rose. “We will leave you this chamber and all the time you wish. Summon a servant when you have an answer for us. In the meantime, we will have food and drink sent.”

  “Thank you.”

  When the Yedagonians had withdrawn, Wedge said, “Pilots, Cheriss, Hallis, please give me a little space.”

  “Our proximity is interfering with his brain waves,” Hobbie said as he stood. “We’re jamming them.”

  “Something to be proud of,” Janson said. “Anyone for a little sabacc?”

  That left Wedge alone at the central table with Iella. She said, “Do you want to be alone to think?”

  “What, send you away? I just got you.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “You make me sound like a marketplace purchase.” But her voice sounded pleased.

  “Never.”

  “I would have thought you’d have an answer ready for Escalion. Even before we reached here.”

  “I did. I was going to turn him down.” Wedge sighed. “But then he threw a skifter into the deck. Flying with the Yedagon Confederacy is not the same thing as leading a union of nations against Cartann. One would be pointless. The other could actually accomplish some, or even all, of what I was sent here to do.”

  “How do you figure that? Wedge, you’re no longer in the loop. Anything you do here constitutes rogue actions. Though I suppose that’s appropriate for an ex-Rogue.”

  He smiled. “But that’s where you’re wrong. My duties and responsibilities and powers didn’t remain in Cartann when we fled. I still have them here.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Until Tomer Darpen is brought down—”

  “He’s not even relevant. It’s obvious that the New Republic set this whole operation up under the control of the local Intelligence division, yes. And it hurts us that Allegiance is under his direct control. But, Iella, my orders don’t even refer to Intelligence. I’m here to try to bring Adumar into the New Republic. I’m empowered to enter into negotiations and conduct treaties. I’m still the chief New Republic diplomat on this world—and I can choose to deal with this assembly of nations instead of Cartann.”

  “I hadn’t considered it that way. So what’s standing between you and making a decision?”

  “One simple fact. Leading the non-Cartann forces is more than writing a treaty. It’s deciding the fates of whole nations. Possibly of Adumar itself.”

  “Wedge, if you choose not to lead them, you’re still deciding their fate.”

  “I—you’re right.”

  “Get used to it. I usually am.”

  He grinned at her, a cocky grin that he knew other Corellians like Han Solo wore far more often than he. “We’ll see about that.” He stood. “Major Janson!”

  Janson shot upright, military straight, then glared at Wedge. “I hope this is more important than my card game, young man.”

  “Inform Yedagon’s perator that I have come to a decision.”

  “Yes, sir. Which is?”

  “We’re going to drop the heavy end of the hammer on Cartann.”

  Janson uttered a noise that was half cheer, half animal wail, and trotted to the door. He returned a moment later. “They’re sending for Escalion.”

  “Good.” Wedge looked among his pilots. “For me, this is technically a diplomatic matter and not a military one. I can’t ask you to be part of it.”

  “You can’t keep us out,” Janson said. “We’ll just overpower you. Two majors plus one colonel equals one general at least.”

  “I’m part of it, too,” Iella said.

  Wedge gave her a mock scowl. “You can overpower me?”

  “I tickle.”

  “Maybe you can.” Wedge stretched and yawned. “We’ll begin strategic planning immediately. I’ll need data on all available military resources—continuously updated if, as Escalion suggests, we’ll be able to swing more nations over to our side. I need data and advisors on Cartann’s forces and standard tactics. I want—”

  “No,” Tycho said.

  Wedge stared at him. “What?”

  “Go to bed, Wedge.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t have a lot of time, and—”

  “And you’ve had less sleep than any of us.” Tycho approached to loom over Wedge where he sat. “Meaning that you’ll do all your planning, then we’ll hop into our fighters and roar off to meet the Cartann forces. And because you’re exhausted, your reflexes are shot and your thinking processes crawl along like a dying Hutt, and some twenty-year-old twit will flame you down and be able to brag about it for the rest of his life. No, Wedge. Get some sleep.”

  “But who’ll—”

  “I will. I’ve plotted a few missions, you might remember. I also know how you think. No, you go get some sleep. You’ll wake up fresh, you’ll examine my plans, you’ll fiddle with them to your satisfaction.”

  Janson and Hobbie flanked Tycho and stared down at Wedge with identical expressions of obstinacy.

  “Mutiny,” Wedge said.

  Iella smiled at him. “I think it’s time you learned how to do something.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Delegate authority.”

  “You may be right.” Wedge rose. It made him feel light-headed. His pilots were correct; if he did manage to force himself to endure several hours of planning and organizing, he’d be no good for anything else. “All right, mutineers, you win.”

  Eleven Coruscant hours later, freshly bathed and shaved, Wedge joined his party and the military leaders of the Yedagon Confederacy in their planning chamber. Like the meeting room where he’d met Escalion, this room was circular, but it was deep beneath the ground under Escalion’s palace. The chamber was dominated by a table shaped as a broken ring; men and women could stand around its exterior and within the open space at its center. Its surface was dominated by flatscreen displays that glowed in the chamber’s dim light.

  Tycho waved him over to the portion of table surrounded by the New Republic representatives and several uniformed Yedagonians. “The nations of Thozzelling and Tetanne have come on board,” Tycho said. “And a half-dozen smaller nations. Escalion was right—your name is like a bank full of credits here, especially after that four versus thirty fight.”

  Wedge smiled at Iella and got a smile in return. Then he turned his attention to the flatscreen on the table. It was a map showing an area reaching from the heart of Cartann to all of Yedagon. Military units of both sides were indicated with blinking colored dots. Wedge supposed that tapping on a dot would bring up information about it, as was the case with the lightboards on Blade-32s.

  Tycho gestured at various units as he spoke. “Squadrons of Blades. Scythe-class bombers. Meteor-class Aerial Forts. Cutting Lens-class reconnaissance/intelligence craft. Farumme-class haulers configured as troop transports. The numbers are continuously updating on the main board as we get word of new units being added to our resources. Cartann’s forces are similar to ours in composition—just superior in numbers and age.

  “Here’s Yedagon City.” Tycho gestured at the grayish blob on the map indicating their current location. “If history is any judge, the forces of Cartann will be heading here and to the capitals and other major cities of all ‘rebellious’ nations. The perator of Cartann has demonstrated that he has a pretty limited agenda and consistent deployment t
actics. A screen of fighters to engage enemy fighters, plus fighters acting as support for his bombers. The fighter engagements are the ones that get all the attention, but it’s the bomber usage that does the real damage. He starts by bombing military bases and any area that has demonstrated high comm traffic within the most recent observation period. Then he graduates to government buildings and the homes of higher-ranking nobles.”

  “What sort of bombs?”

  “They’re officially named Broadcaps, for the shape of the cloud that results, but they’re commonly called Punch-and-Pops. They hit the ground and penetrate several meters—the idea being that they can get into underground chambers like this one—before detonating. A single one can level several city blocks.”

  “Charming,” Wedge said. “All right. What’s your plan?”

  “The perator of Cartann likes noontime assaults. They look very nice on the recordings, and a lot of his pilots enjoy diving down at their targets with the sun at their backs. We can expect his attack on Yedagon City perhaps as early as noon tomorrow… so we’re not going to give him the opportunity. We’ll be launching before dawn to be in Cartann airspace at sunrise.”

  Wedge nodded. Getting the hard-living, hard-drinking Cartann pilots out of their bunks a mere handful of hours after they reached them would provide the allied forces with one more desperately needed advantage. “Go on.”

  “From there, our first tactic is to deny them their strength by busting up their chain of command wherever possible. The standard assault group of several fighter squadrons and associated bombers and fortresses will analyze the approach of Cartann forces. When they know which portion of the formation is the Cartann target—the ‘center’—that portion will slow its approach and mill. The outer edges will swing out farther and increase speed, forming horns to either side of the Cartann formation and at a lower altitude, at distances that put our horns out of range of one another’s weapons—but keep the Cartann forces within range of both sets of weapons. Since our firing plane is below the target plane, misses by missiles will not endanger our own forces—they’ll just reach their programmed range limits and detonate themselves. Meanwhile, the Cartann forces will have to suffer an initial barrage in which we can concentrate fire and they have to diffuse theirs, and then will have to choose to maintain their original plan or break up to assault the diverse elements of our formation. Once they’ve committed themselves, we can choose whether to collapse our formation and pin them there, or send the horns—with their bombers—on to their primary objectives, the air bases and communications centers.”