Star Wars - X-Wing - Starfighters of Adumar

by Aaron Allston

  and his pilots strode into the Outer Court of the Royal Residence, where

  they'd had their reception the first night, the crowd assembled there voiced

  an appreciative "ooh" that was music to Wedge's ears. He raised a hand to wave

  jauntily to the crowd, his smile projecting confidence, not betraying the

  slight queasiness he felt as the court's miasma of perfumes began to assault

  him.

  "I feel fat,"Hobbie said.

  'You're not fat," Janson said. "Exceptnever mind."

  " What? "Hobbie said.

  "Nothing."

  "No, tell me. I've been working out. I've been good. You just can't work

  on everything."

  "That's right," Janson said. "It's scarcely noticeable."

  "Where?"

  A womanalready tall, her height amplified by the way her brown hair was

  piled atop her headmoved up beside Wedge. "I found out who that other room

  belongs to," she said.

  Wedge looked at her, then peered closer. "Hallis?"

  She looked exasperated. "Yes, Hallis."

  "Sorry, you still look different with only one head."

  "Men always tell me that..."

  "What other room?"

  "I'm delighted to oblige," Wedge said. When he took her hand, he felt

  something crinkle in his palm. Iella withdrew her hand and departed with her

  minister, leaving Wedge with a scrap of flimsi in his hand and a happy memory

  of her dazzling smile.

  As inconspicuously as he could, he glanced at the flimsi. On it was

  written a notethe name "Rogriss," followed by a series of numbers,

  recognizable as a specific communications frequency.

  Wedge nodded. That would be the frequency the admiral kept one personal

  comm unit tuned tosomething only his executive officer and one or two others

  aboard Agonizer should have known. Wedge couldn't begin to guess how Iella had

  come by the knowledge; he was just glad she had. He pocketed the scrap.

  As the introductions and handshakes continued, he scanned the assembly.

  He caught sight of Turr Phennir and pilots, standing in a tight little

  quartet, all in Adumari dress. Phennir was scowling, definitely unhappy, and

  Wedge grinned at him. It was possibly the most minor of victoriesWedge and

  pilots had upstaged the Imperial flyers with their distinctive uniforms and

  entrancebut Wedge was happy to accept any victory he could get.

  More invitees crowded into the hall and began to segregate themselves

  into large groups. Wedge tried to puzzle out what the divisions meant.

  The perator, once again in gold, was surrounded chiefly by ministers and

  other courtiers; that group was easy to define. Tomer Darpen hovered at its

  edges, prevented by his alien status from moving closer to the center and

  hearing what the perator was saying, prevented by his own nature from moving

  farther away.

  Wedge saw in two other groups pilots he'd flown against in simulations

  training. Most seemed to be on the periphery of one group of thirty or so

  well-dressed nobles, while a couple were with a different group of similar

  size. Wedge noted that the garments of these groups tended to be slightly

  different in cut and style than those he was used to, and realized that the

  pilots he recognized were all from nations other than Cartann. That was it,

  then; these were delegations from other nations.

  Another group was of Cartann noblesWedge saw Iella and her minister

  among them. Iella noticed his attention, gave him a smile; then she was back

  in character and responding to something said by one of the men in her

  vicinity. Most of that crowd constituted men and women dressed in similar

  stuffy fashion, which suggested that this was a crowd of ministers, but the

  fact that they were well away from the perator said that they were a group the

  ruler had no particular need to consultminor functionaries.

  Turr Phennir and his pilots were at the center of their own knot of

  people. One of Phennir's pilots, a tall redheaded man, had his hand out before

  him as if grasping a TIE fighter's yoke; his hand shook as though he were

  firing on a target, and his eyes were wide, animated. The group around him

  made noises of admiration. Phennir was not paying attention; his gaze was on

  Wedge.

  "Before the day's events begin," called a courtier, "a diversion. Ground

  Champion Cheriss ke Hanadi accepts a title challenge from Lord Pilot Eneboros

  ke Shalapan."

  "That explains where Cheriss is," Tycho said, and craned his head for a

  better look.

  The crowd in the vicinity of the perator moved back to make an open

  circle; Wedge headed that way.

  Cheriss was already in the center of the circle, stretching, going

  through a few practice thrusts and lunges with her blastsword's power off. Her

  appearance was different from the way it had been in the previous blastsword

  match; her intensity was there, but she wore no predatory smile. She also

  looked tired, a little disheveled, not her meticulously neat self.

  Into Wedge's ear, Hobbie said, "She's wearing the same clothes from

  yesterday."

  Beside him, Janson nodded. "Not like her. Such a clean girl. Even when

  she's stabbing people."

  "Quiet," Wedge said. "There's something wrong here."

  Her opponent, at the edge of the crowd, was very tall and lean, with an

  elaborately curled brown mustache and a goatee that tended more toward blond.

  Friends or assistants to either side of him were binding up his flowing

  sleeves so they would not interfere with his motions. When he was ready, he

  nodded to the speaker, who in turn caught Cheriss's eye. She thumbed on the

  power of her blastsword and its tip began leaving blue trails through the air.

  Her challenger also flourished with his blade, its tip leaving traces of a

  more purple-blue behind.

  The announcer called for salutes to the perator, then signaled for the

  fight to begin.

  It didn't take long. The challenger moved in with a thrust that was

  little more than an initial probe. Cheriss swept it aside and, in the same

  motion, threw herself forward, a daring counterstrike that left her exposed...

  but caught her enemy in the rib cage. There was a crack and a flash of blue

  light, and with a cry her challenger went down.

  Cheriss looked to the perator.

  The ruler of Cartann shrugged and put his hand out, palm downthe signal

  that the defeated man should die.

  Cheriss slowly shook her head and turned her back on the defeated man and

  the perator. She moved into the crowd, leaving the fight behind. The audience

  parted for her, many of its members offering a low noise of surprise.

  "Did she just do what I thought she did?" Wedge asked. "Give the perator

  the choice on what happened to her opponent, and then defy him?"

  "That's what I got out of it, boss," Hobbie said.

  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 blast-sword 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 thic k with the delicate,

  colorful traceries of the movements of blast-sword 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 linebut 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 crowdthis crowdand 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 equalsexcept 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 characteristicone 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 affect - ing 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 audiencethe 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