The perator was scowling now, but lost the expression when a minister stepped up to him and began talking. In moments, the ruler had apparently forgotten the fight, and friends of the challenger picked the injured man up to carry him from the hall.
Wedge moved through the crowd in pursuit of Cheriss. When he caught up to her, she was speaking to the man who had announced her fight. “…standard acceptance for ke Seiufere,” she said. The man nodded.
“Cheriss, a moment of your time?”
She glanced at Wedge, and he was taken aback by what he saw in her expression. Before she had always been so animated, so full of energy and cheer; now her eyes seemed dull, lacking passion or interest. “A moment, yes,” she said.
“What are you doing?”
She offered an indifferent shrug. “While I have been acting as your guide, I have let other duties pile up. Such as attending to the many challenges I receive. I am merely clearing some of those away now.” She suppressed a yawn.
“You haven’t changed since yesterday. Have you slept?”
She shook her head. “I don’t need sleep to deal with these pretenders.” She looked over Wedge’s shoulder and her expression became even more mournful. “You’d best go. Someone might grow suspicious… for no good reason at all.” She turned her back on him and moved into the crowd.
Wedge turned to look. Immediately behind him was Tycho, alert and intent as ever. That didn’t make sense; why would Tycho “grow suspicious”?
But over his shoulder, a few meters back, doing a very good job of looking innocuous, stood Iella.
Wedge froze and continued to scan the crowd in that direction. Who else could have provoked such a response from Cheriss? He noted and dismissed a double dozen faces. No, she had to have been referring to Iella.
But she shouldn’t have known Iella’s face. To know it, she had to have… Wedge calculated the times any of the New Republic pilots had been in contact with Iella. No, Cheriss had to have seen it last night. She had to have been the quiet stalker Janson had heard. She must have been outside Wedge’s quarters when he and Janson returned from the Allegiance last night, must have followed them to their meeting with Iella, must have later gotten a look at Iella’s face by some means.
And now she was—
“We are doubly blessed,” called the announcer. “Ground Champion Cheriss ke Hanadi, not content with a single victory this day, accepts a title challenge from Lord Pilot Phalle ke Seiufere.”
The crowd moved out to open another circle, and there stood Cheriss, this time opposite a squat plug of a man who looked as though he had tremendous upper body strength. Blond, with shoulder-length yellow hair and a mustache that trailed and swayed limply, the new challenger stared at Cheriss with real anger in his sea-green eyes.
Wedge swore to himself. The fight was already under way by the time he was able to maneuver himself to the front of the crowd. Nor was this a quick and easy battle like the last one; Wedge saw Cheriss and her opponent exchange assault after assault, each time deflecting blastsword blows with deft parries or by the more punishing method of catching the explosive blows on the guards of their swords. Within moments the air was thick with the delicate, colorful traceries of the movements of blastsword tips and with the acrid smell of blaster impacts, which became almost strong enough to overpower the perfumes.
Cheriss’s opponent, strong and fast, seemed to have no problem swatting aside Cheriss’s assaults before her blade point endangered him. Some of her thrusts, breathtaking in their speed and intricacy, snaked around the guard on his left-hand dagger, but these he took with equal skill on his blastsword guard, always disengaging immediately and moving forward in aggressive attack, driving Cheriss into retreat. Soon both Cheriss and her opponent were breathing heavily, sweat running from beneath their heavy and elaborate clothing.
Cheriss, slowing, swept her opponent’s point aside with the knife she still held in her distinctive reverse grip and leaped forward into a lunge. Her opponent riposted, his blastsword moving her tip out of line while his remained in line—but her lunge took her body lower than it customarily did, and suddenly she was skidding past him on her knees. Cheriss struck backward without looking and her blastsword point took her opponent behind the left knee. He yelped loud enough to drown out the blaster sound of impact, and collapsed onto one leg; before he could begin to recover, before he could force his body to work through the pain and shock of blast impact, Cheriss rose, spun, and tapped him once on each arm. He shrieked once more and slammed to the floor. Smoke rose from his wounds and the air filled with the smell of burned flesh.
The audience applauded. Cheriss, looking far more tired and shaky than Wedge had ever seen her, bowed her head to the crowd, then looked to the perator.
This time the ruler did not bother to give her a cue. He turned his back on Cheriss and her downed opponent. The crowd uttered a rippling noise of surprise. Cheriss turned her back on her opponent and moved into the crowd.
Wedge headed for her. But before he could take half a dozen steps through the milling crowd, the announcer called out, “Attend! Before this day is given over entirely to demonstrations of the blastsword art, the perator wishes to address us, and all the world, on the matter of today’s gathering.”
The crowd went into motion again, its elements dividing by what looked like random motion into its earlier groupings. Wedge lost track of Cheriss and sighed. He returned to his pilots. Tomer and Hallis joined them a moment later.
“Nice timing with the New Republic uniforms,” Tomer said. “It turns out the perator’s going to broadcast worldwide. And the Imp pilots, in local dress, don’t even stand out in the crowd. You couldn’t have done better.”
“Nice to know I’ve accomplished something on a diplomatic level,” Wedge said.
Tapestries high up on two of the walls drew aside, revealing the flatscreens Wedge had seen on the night of his arrival on-planet. The screens showed confused, wavering visions of a crowd—this crowd—and then settled in on the face of the perator, who was smiling, golden, looking as perfect and imperishable as a statue. The perator was looking off to the side, talking to someone; he received some sort of cue, for he turned directly into the flatcam view and his smile broadened, became dazzling.
“On this historic day,” the perator said, “I address all of Adumar—something I find I will be doing often.
“We have now had time to see that Adumar does not exist in a void. Rather, we share the universe with other worlds, and collectives of worlds. Hidden for centuries by distance and forgetfulness, we find ourselves now within easy reach of new friends who would embrace us as equals—except for one important manner in which we are not their equals.”
A murmur rose in the ranks of the audience, and many of its members looked at Wedge and his pilots, at Turr Phennir and the Imperial flyers. The expressions of some were curious; those of others graduated toward resentment or suspicion.
“I find,” the perator said, “that we lag behind these united worlds in only one characteristic—one which is easily corrected. We are a world divided by ancient borders, national identities that serve only to keep us apart and to fragment our ability to make wise decisions affecting all Adumar. I am grateful to our visitors from other worlds and their gentle manner of demonstrating this to us.”
“We haven’t demonstrated anything,” Wedge whispered. “We haven’t been able to talk to him.”
“True,” Tomer said, also in hushed tones. “But he’s been absorbing information we’ve passed on to him. Records, histories, encyclopedias.”
“In consultation with the rulers and representatives of other nations,” the perator said, “we have come to an agreement that the establishment of a unified world government for Adumar will allow us to interact with outside worlds more effectively, permitting the establishment of trade and exchange of knowledge.”
“This is good,” Tomer whispered. “This is excellent.”
The perator drew himself more
upright, and his expression turned from cheerful benevolence to a leader’s awareness of history and import. “So,” he said, “on this memorable day, I hereby establish the government of the world of Adumar. With both humility and trepidation I take the reins of command of a united world.” There was a stirring, a growing murmur, from one portion of the audience, but he continued, “This new government will be structured as an outgrowth of the government of Cartann, and will be centered in the city of Cartann to allow for an instantaneous and effective implementation of rule.” He bowed his head in humility.
Portions of the audience applauded. But a riot of noise erupted from one large cluster of the audience—the one, Wedge saw, that was dominated by foreign dignitaries. “Wait!” cried one dignitary. He surged ahead, out of his cluster of crowd and toward the perator’s waving his hands, his flared sleeves rippling with all the colors of the rainbow. “There has been no vote—”
“Liar!” That was a shout from a deep-voiced representative wearing muted greens; even his hair and beard were green. “You cannot unilaterally—” The rest of his shout was drowned out by the rising volume of applause and shouts from elsewhere in the audience.
Not one of these angry declamations was broadcast over the flatscreens on the walls. Wedge supposed that a directional voice pickup was being used so that the perator’s words, and only his words, would be broadcast.
Wedge glanced at Tomer. “Is what I think is happening actually taking place here?”
Tomer, confusion on his face, kept his attention on the perator and shrugged.
“You know what they call it when one ruler declares a world government and the rest don’t agree?” Wedge asked. He could recognize the anger, the taunting quality, in his own voice. “We get a war of conquest. Lasers and missiles fired on civilian populations.”
“Shut up,” Tomer said.
The perator finally raised his eyes to look out over his worldwide audience again, and a gentle smile returned to his lips. “Today is the last day of the old Adumar,” he said. “Prepare yourselves and prepare your children for a new age, a golden age, to follow. Tomorrow we will all be citizens of a new and greater world.” He nodded, and the flatscreens on the wall faded to a neutral gray.
Most of the audience burst out in wild applause. The foreign section did not. Some of its members were now at the edges of the perator’s retinue and being restrained by liveried guards.
The perator addressed them. “You must decide what is best for your own nations, of course,” he said. His voice was artificially amplified and carried over the shouts of objection and cheers of approval. “Return to your delegations. Call your homelands. Do what you feel you must. But trust me, simple acquiescence will be best. Tomorrow all nations will be one, and governed from this palace. You want to be governed as friends and allies—not enemies of the state.” His pose dignified, he turned and headed toward one of the side exits, a portion of his retinue accompanying him.
Wedge glared at Tomer.
But the diplomat did not look at all abashed. “You can’t blame this on me,” he said. “He’s taken our suggestions about a world government and simply sliced them into his own ambitions for rule.”
Wedge’s anger didn’t waver. “But are you going to press him to abandon this plan if it leads to war?”
Tomer shook his head. “This is a strictly internal affair, General. The perator might be using our presence, our organizational needs, as a rationalization for this move. But we’re not involved, and we can’t become involved.”
“Cartann and its satellite nations, if I read things right, are powerful enough to conquer the nations most likely to resist,” Wedge said. “So they form a world government, and it’s what you’ve seen. A state where human life is only valuable when it’s harvested for personal honor. You think the New Republic will want it? You think it will have anything in common with the New Republic?”
Tomer nodded, his expression confident. “We’ll be able to work it out. Speaking of which—”
“More diversion for the attendees,” cried the announcer. “Cheriss ke Hanadi accepts a ground title challenge from Lord Pilot Thanaer ke Sekae.”
Wedge growled out something inarticulate. To Tomer, he said, “Later.” Then he turned and plunged into the crowd, heading toward the open area already forming.
He spotted and reached Cheriss before she entered the circle. If anything, she looked more tired, more lifeless than before. He glowered at the men and women surrounding her until they retreated a step or two. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked her.
She looked at him, a sidelong glance without emotion. “I told you already.”
“You lied,” he said. “I’ll tell you. You’re committing suicide.”
“No. I can beat him.” Yet there was no anger in her voice, no emotion of any kind.
“Probably. If you do, will you accept another challenge?”
“Yes.”
“And another?”
“Yes.”
“Until what?”
“Until there are no challenges left.”
“Or you’re defeated.” He leaned in closer. “You spurned the perator earlier today. You offered him the fate of your foe and then you chose the other way. Now, to avenge the insult and please the perator, anyone who defeats you will kill you. No one will offer you mercy ever again. Correct?”
She looked past him to where her opponent waited. Wedge caught a glimpse of him, a man of medium height, his dark tunic and beard tricked out with fringes of flowing red ribbons. “My opponent is waiting,” she said.
“He can wait.” Wedge drew a deep breath and tried to settle his thoughts. “Cheriss, I’m going to say some things to you now. They’re going to sound egotistical. You’re probably going to deny them. I don’t really care. I know I’m right.
“You care about me, and you know I care about someone else, and you’ve decided to die rather than live with that.”
She just looked at him.
“I’m waiting.” That was Cheriss’s opponent, standing alone in the ring.
Wedge didn’t even look at him. “You’ve waited this long,” he called out. “Another few minutes won’t make you any homelier.”
Members of the audience tittered. Wedge recognized Janson’s laugh among the others.
He returned his attention to Cheriss. “I just wish,” he said, “that in addition to caring about me, you had some respect for me.”
“How can you say that?” At last there was emotion in her voice, unrestrained anger. “If I did not respect—”
“You wouldn’t be pointlessly throwing your life away, in direct contradiction to everything I believe?” People surrounding them looked at him, and he struggled to lower his tone. “Cheriss, this is an act of dishonor.”
Her tone turned contemptuous. “You really believe that.”
“I can prove it to you. At least, I can prove to you that everything you think about me is wrong. What is it about me that you, and the other Adumari, think is so honorable?”
“Your success in killing the enemy—”
“No. That’s dishonorable.” He waited until her eyes widened, then he continued, “Or it would be, without the right intent. Why do I kill the enemy, Cheriss?”
“For—for the honor—”
“Circular thinking. I’m honorable because I kill the enemy, and I kill the enemy for the honor. There’s nothing there, Cheriss. Here’s the truth: I kill the enemy so someone, somewhere—probably someone I’ve never met and never will meet—will be happy.”
She looked confused. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, it does. I told you how I lost my parents. Nothing I ever do can make up for that loss. But if I put myself in the way of people just as bad as the ones who killed my family, if I burn them down, then someone else they would have hurt gets to stay happy. That’s the only honorable thing about my profession. It’s not the killing. It’s making the galaxy a little better.”
She shook her head, unbelieving.
“And now you’re here, thinking like an immature girl instead of a woman, anxious to throw away your life because you’re unhappy now. And because you’ve been told all your life that there’s honor in doing something like this. Tell me, where’s the honor? Are you making Adumar a better place? Are you giving anyone a better life? Are you weeding bad men out of the court of Cartann, or are you just cutting them down randomly?”
“I… I…”
“Just stop doing this, Cheriss. Figure out how you’re going to live and be happy, not why you can’t. We’ll talk. You’ll learn how.”
Something settled in Cheriss’s expression, some pain behind her eyes. “Very well,” she said. “After this fight.”
“Refuse this challenge. It’s meaningless.”
“It’s meaningless… but I’ve already accepted it.” She drew her blastsword and examined the blade from guard to point. “I can’t withdraw my acceptance now. I’d be shamed forever.”
“Cheriss—”
“I can’t, General.” She moved past him to stand at the edge of the circle.
Wedge’s pilots and Tomer moved in beside him as the announcer went through the usual ritual commencing a duel.
“No good, huh?” Janson asked.
“Some good,” Wedge said. “If she survives.” He looked around, caught sight of Iella. She was standing once more beside her minister escort, her expression mimicking the appreciation of blood sports Wedge could see on countless faces around her… but she saw Wedge looking, and he glimpsed worry behind her act.
Then Cheriss and Thanaer moved against one another.
Their duel was much like the last one, for Thanaer’s blows were strong and lightning-fast… and it seemed to Wedge that Cheriss had slowed further. Nor had she the physical strength to beat her way past Thanaer’s defense; with dagger and blastsword he swept each of her thrusts aside. They drove against one another in a clinch, each blastsword locked at its hilt against the other’s knife, and when they parted, she managed to blood his sword arm’s wrist with a sudden slash of her knife, but the wound did not slow him.
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