Star Wars - X-Wing - Starfighters of Adumar

by Aaron Allston

  rappelled down to your balcony today from an upper story. I think he was doing

  something to your X-wings. Just scawling something on them, I think."

  In moments, they were out on the balcony, looking over their

  snubfighters. Hallis followed and slid the main door to the balcony shut

  behind her. People on balconies all around and across the street called out to

  them, waving.

  Wedge waved back distractedly. He saw nothing changed on his X-wing's

  exterior, and there was certainly nothing new written on it. He addressed his

  astromech, which was still set up behind the cockpit. "Gate, report on any

  interference with this snubfighter." He brought out his datapad so the R5 unit

  could transmit its response to him.

  Its screen came up with the words NO INTERFERENCE

  NOTED.

  "There wasn't any that I know of," Hallis said. "I lied about that."

  Wedge gave her a curious look. "Maybe you'd better explain that."

  "I wanted to get you out on the balcony. There aren't any listening

  devices out here."

  "We know there are listening devices inside," Wedge said. "We don't say

  anything there we can't afford to have overheard."

  "That's good," Hallis said. "I came by here this morning to let you know

  I'd be recording the Imperial pilots, to ask if you wanted me to look out for

  anything in particular. But when I got here, you'd already gone. As I was

  leaving, I saw someone headed toward your door. And your door admitted him."

  "Saves wear and tear," Janson said. "When the thieves can just walk in

  instead of having to break the door down."

  "Did you get a good look at him?" Wedge asked.

  "Better than that, I got some recordings of him. I followed him in, got

  in just before the door closed. Hid behind tapestries and furniture while he

  went from room to room. The one time I got a good look at what he was doing in

  the rooms, he seemed to be checking up on em-placed itemsalmost certainly

  transmitters. Then, when I left, I followed him to where he was going."

  Wedge exchanged glances with the other pilots. Suddenly Hallis didn't

  seem so ridiculous a figure after all. Wedge had underestimated her ability,

  mistaking eccentricity for a basic lack of competence. He wouldn't do that a

  second time.

  Janson frowned. "I hope you'll excuse a silly questionbut how does a

  lady with two heads follow anyone?"

  Hallis gave him an indulgent smile. "I took White-cap off while I was

  tailing him, Major. I'm fully aware of the sort of commotion he causes when I

  wear him. But what I knowand what you don't knowis that people, when they

  look at me, only see the two-headed lady. They don't give me a close look,

  they don't register my features. Meaning that I can tuck Whitecap under my

  cloak and take off my goggles, and nobody recognizes me. I doubt even you

  would."

  Janson opened his mouth as if to protest and then shut it again, his

  expression thoughtful.

  "Hallis, are you Intelligence-trained?" Wedge asked.

  She shook her head. "Sludgenews-trained. Are you familiar with

  sludgenews?"

  Tycho made a face. "A minor evil found in many heavily populated worlds,

  especially in the Corporate Sector. News on which celebrities are in love this

  week, complete with holos recorded by someone who sneaked onto their private

  estates and then escaped again. Revelations on how the shapes of nebulae

  determine your fate. Stories about women who claim to have borne a son to

  Emperor Palpatine. Stores that there never was a New Republic/Imperial war,

  that it was all cooked up to foster wartime productivity and profit the

  starfighter manufacturers. Stories claiming that Darth Vader is still alive,

  about to lead a revolt to reinstitute the Empire. That sort of thing."

  Hallis nodded. "It's a very competitive field. You learn to hustle, to

  bribe, to sneak, to plant transmitters, to read past the text stream to the

  data stream... or you fail and get out. I learned it all, and then I got out

  anyway. It's a brand of newsmaking that doesn't exactly make the galaxy a

  better place."

  "So you followed our intruder out of here," Wedge said.

  "Yes. He didn't even leave the building. He went into a room on the third

  floor. Third Alabaster it's called. I don't know whether it was his room or

  not; its door admitted him, but then so did yours. I waited around for a while

  to see who else might go in or come out, but its corridor is just a little too

  public, so I left."

  "That's good work," Wedge said. "I assume that he's probably New Republic

  Intelligence, keeping up on us... but it's not safe to assume anything for too

  long. We'll have to find out whose quarters those are and start tracing some

  connections. Thank you, Hallis."

  She offered him a nod.

  From the corner of his eye, Wedge saw Cheriss appear at the transparent

  door into the pilots' quarters. She waved but didn't come through the door

  sensitive, doubtless, to the fact that she might not yet be welcome. But a

  second later, Tomer Darpen brushed past her, slid the door open, and emerged

  onto the balcony, his expression dark. "I need to speak with General Antilles,

  " he said. "Everyone else please leave."

  No one budged. Wedge could feel their eyes upon him, but he gave them no

  signal. Wedge spoke, his tone artificially mild "People I haven't invited

  over don't get to tell my guests to leave. Try again."

  Tomer said nothing for a few seconds, during which time Wedge supposed he

  was trying to compose himself, and then said, "This is an official exchange

  between the diplomatic delegation to Adumar, that's me, and the point

  diplomat, that's you. It's not going to be entirely friendly. It may include

  things you don't want your pilots to hear, but obviously you can insist they

  stay if you must. But I'm going to have to ask this young lady to leave, if

  only to the next room"

  "My pilots have heard lots of grown-up words," Wedge said. "Even Janson.

  And this young lady is Hallis."

  Tomer looked at her, confused. "Where's your other head?"

  She gave him a sorrowful look. "When I was walking around today, I met a

  young man who had no head. Just a stump that suggested he had a long, sad

  story to tell. But of course he couldn't, because he had no head.

  So I gave Whitecap to him. The man now has the voice and mannerisms of a

  3PO unit, but they're better than nothing."

  Tomer's mouth worked for a moment or two. Then he turned his glare back

  on Wedge. "There. Now you've corrupted her, too. That's what I came over to

  talk to you about. This has to stop."

  "What has to stop?"

  "All this business with your duels. What is this nonsense with simulated

  weapons?"

  "A simple way to give the Adumari the encounters they obviously want so

  very much, without getting them killed. Or me, or my pilots."

  Tomer rolled exasperated eyes toward the floor of the balcony above.

  "General Antilles, you're changing things. There are now Adumari pilots,

  famous pilots, talking about doing more sim-weapon exercises."

  "Good."

  "You're not here to change things! You're
here to gain their respect,

  according to their culture, and to demonstrate that they should throw in with

  the New Republic."

  "Meaning what? Meaning that I should stop doing duels"

  "No, that would cost you the respect you've earned in their eyes."

  "or start doing live-weapon duels?"

  Tomer was silent.

  "That's it, isn't it? You think I should go up in the skies day after day

  and shoot down eager Adumari pilots."

  "That's what Turr Phennir and his men are doing."

  Wedge felt cold anger creep through his guts. When he spoke again, his

  voice was very quiet. "So you're saying that I should win playing by the

  Empire's rules."

  Tomer hesitated. "In this case, yes."

  "Never."

  "If you don't, we lose Adumar to the Empire. And there go the proton

  torpedo supplies you were hoping for. And more of your pilots die, and the

  Empire gains new ground. All because you're too squeamish to do what common

  sense demands of you."

  Wedge took an involuntary step toward Tomer. The diplomat jolted

  backward. "Listen," Wedge said, "and try to understand. This isn't some civil

  trial where all positions, all propositions, are equally valid until the judge

  decides which one is right. If we act like the Empire, we become the Empire.

  And then, even if we defeat the Empire, we've still lostbecause the Empire is

  once again in control. Just with a new name and with new faces printed on the

  crednotes."

  Tomer shook his head. "No. Chief of State Leia Organa Solo is in charge.

  It doesn't matter what we do here. Her opinions, her ethics, still define what

  the New Republic is."

  "You're deluded."

  "And you're a naive fool, and you're going to lose Adumar for us with

  your naivete."

  Wedge offered him a tight, unfriendly smile. "Would you like this

  diplomatic mission to use a different approach? Turr Phennir's approach?"

  "I hate to say it, but yes."

  "Then get a different diplomat."

  Tomer hesitated again. "Not feasible. You're just going to have to fall

  in lin e." He heaved a regretful sigh. "General Antilles, that constitutes an

  order."

  "You don't give me orders, Darpen."

  "No, of course not." Tomer shrugged, apology on his face. "These are

  orders from the regional director of Intelligence, and since Intelligence was

  actually the first division to institute activity in this system, all New

  Republic activities currently ongoing, including diplomatic, fall under its

  authority. The director has issued orders that you cease these simulated

  training missions."

  "Who is the regional director of Intelligence?"

  Tomer shook his head. "I can't tell you that. He or she likes to maintain

  anonymity."

  Wedge offered him a frosty smile. "Well, I can tell you who the local

  director isn't."

  "Who's that?"

  "General Cracken. I received my initial orders from Cracken, and they

  didn't say anything about being answerable to one of his subordinates. When I

  get a message from Cracken telling me to do what you've just said, I will, of

  course, comply. Until thennot a chance."

  "But"

  "And now it's time for you to go."

  "No, we need to talk this through."

  "You can leave through the door or go flying over the rail, Tomer."

  Tomer read his eyes, then shook his head angrily and turned away.

  Only when the door had slid in place behind Tomer did Wedge relax again.

  He took a long breath. "Hallis, are you recording? In any way?"

  She shook her head. "General, I'm an ethical documentarian. One reason

  why I'm no longer in sludge."

  "Good." Wedge wrestled a moment with the words he was about to say. "Are

  any of you wondering whether Adumar is worth bringing into the New Republic?"

  Hobbie, his expression regretful, nodded. Janson followed suit. Tycho

  didn't respond, and Hallis merely looked between them, her body completely

  still, only her eyes moving.

  Janson said, "All that stuff about them being pilot-happy... it's wrong.

  The only things they seem to want rare honor and death. I would not want to

  fly with an Adumari pilot in my squadron."

  "I can't entirely agree," said Tycho. "We've already had luck in bringing

  some of them around. Our training exercises have been successes. If they

  hadn't been, Tomer [wouldn't have blasted in here, spitting smoke and aiming

  lasers. And I think Cheriss, in the other room, is another good indicator.

  She's as devoted to this whole death-and-honor thing as any Adumari I've met,

  but I don't think it would take too much to turn her around to a more

  civilized way of thinking. I think a better question is this What effect will

  it have on the New Republic if we bring Adumar in the way it is now?"

  "There's no telling," Wedge said. "But it's something I need to think

  about. I think I need a drink."

  "Oh, good," Janson said.

  "Alone."

  Inside, Cheriss had advice to offerrather too much of it, until it

  became clear to her that Wedge really meant that he wanted some time alone.

  Then she settled down and merely asked, "Do you want a brewtap where you will

  be recognized and mobbed, one where you will be unrecognized, or one where you

  will be recognized but ignored? And do you want one with entertainments or

  shadowy corners?"

  "Unrecognized," he told her. "Shadows."

  "Garham's-on-the-Downstream," she said. "Hold on."

  She went to the closet off the main room, the one where enormous

  quantities of clothing had been delivered their first day in Cartann. Clothes

  remained there until selected by one of the pilots, at which time they would

  end up in that pilot's armoire. But this closet was still mostly full, Tomer's

  people keeping it well stocked from day to day. Cheriss reached in and brought

  something over to Wedge a face mask, made to cover its wearer from upper lip

  to forehead, in a lavender material with the appearance of suede but the

  weight of foamed plastic.

  Wedge looked at it. "Lavender. I have bad memories of lavender clothing.

  I don't think it's me," he said.

  "Precisely my point."

  "Ah. A good point, too." He put it on, put up the hood of his cloak, and

  turned to his pilots. "Well?"

  Janson affected surprise. "Who are you? What have you done with Wedge?"

  Wedge sighed. "Always good to have a pal in the audience."

  Garham's-on-the-Downstream was not quite what Wedge expected. It was no

  dive. Less than two city blocks from his quarters, it boasted expensive

  columns of stone, curtained booths, excellent service, and decent drinks

  though most of them were variations on two types of drink, an ale ("brew") and

  a liquor ("hard") derived from Adumar's most common grain, chartash.

  It was, however, set up for privacy. It had an entrance off a darkened

  side street, the low-yield lighting cast shadows in every corner, and the

  booths all offered privacy. Unfortunately, the booths were all full at this

  hour, so Wedge took a chair at the bar, in the most shadowy corner.

  He nursed a brew and watched the people of Cartann. He pondered their
/>   fates and his own.

  It was a simple question, really. If Adumar were magically to pull a

  world government from its sleeve, and all Wedge had to do to entice that

  government to join the New Republic was fight a few pilots who were anxious to

  duel him to the death, could he refuse?

  No, there was a second question. If Adumar joined the New Republic, who

  would be the better for it?

  First things first. On the occasions he bothered to think about it, Wedge

  considered himself a soldier. He had joined a cause, the Rebel Alliance, that

  was aligned with his particular set of ethics and beliefs. He obeyed orders

  and risked his life in order to achieve a set of ends he believed in. He

  issued orders and risked the lives of others likewise.

  But the pilots who wanted to come against him here were not enemies. They

  were potential allies... ones who wanted to kill him, or die at his hands, in

  order to profit from the so-called honor to be had from such a fate.

  The others in the brewtap were men, mostly, though one in ten or so was a

  woman. Wedge assumed from the posture and conversation of these women that

  they were like the men herepilots or minor nobles out for a night of drinks

  and anonymous trouble. The fact that none had sidled up to him with a glib

  offer told him that there were no professional companions here.

  The people at the bar exchanged smiles and bitter comments, wove their

  hands around in the air to illustrate some piloting maneuver, argued at first

  quietly and then with increasing heat and volume about some common

  acquaintance or romantic rivalry. It was just the same as almost any bar Wedge

  had visited. With one difference One of the arguers extended a fist, the

  knuckle of his middle finger protruding, and lightly rapped the chin of the

  other. The second man stiffened and nodded. The two of them tossed coins on

  the bar top and rapidly departed, their hands already on the hilts of their

  blastswords.

  Wedge shook his head. There it was again, the dueling, the almost

  maniacal disregard for the value of life. Would it harm the New Republic to

  have such a vital cultureone so inexplicably devoted to the futile snuffing

  out of livesjoin it?

  If he was to be honest with himself, Wedge had to admit that it would

  probably do the New Republic no harm. Visitors from other worlds to Adumar

  would probably not get caught up in the dueling mania, while Adumari pilots