that you can't explain your whole revised plan to General Cracken; he'd never
go for it. Which is why you could never come up with an order from Cracken for
me to play along with you. You had to implement a communications blackout to
keep word of any kind, other than your own reports, from reaching him. It's
success on Adumar or the end of your career, isn't it, Tomer? Your career
might not even survive if you're successful. Chief of State Organa Solo, when
she reviews these events, might just decide that you're a war criminal, not a
successful diplomat."
Tomer glared for a long moment. "You could have helped. Things would have
been better."
"I might have been able to help... if you'd been straight with me from
the start. If you hadn't settled on Cartann running everything, through a war
of conquest, as the only way to get your job done."
"You use the tools available to youhere's the perator."
The ruler of Cartann emerged from his doorway, his retinue of guards and
advisors around him like a set of living shields. Wedge saw Hallis, this time
wearing subdued sea-green and her hair arrayed as it had been yesterday; she
maneuvered to be as close as she could to the ruler, which was still outside
the boundaries suggested by the placement of his outermost guards.
The perator offered up his charismatic smile for the assembly. This time,
there were to be no flatscreens broadcasting his words, though once again they
were amplified so all would hear. "It is with deep sorrow that I must announce
that certain elements have chosen not to enter into our plans for the future.
In specific, the seditious forces ruling the nation of Halbegardia and the
Yedagon Confederacy have decided to issue statements of defiance. Their
actions are clearly intended to endanger our future relations with other
worlds and could leave Adumar a weak, disorganized planet, ripe for con -
quest from outside. So for the sake of the security of all Adumari everywhere,
I declare Halbegardia and Yedagon to be outside our protection... and the
targets of efforts of pacification to begin very soon."
He paused, and applause broke out among his courtiers. This day, Wedge
saw smaller clusters of foreign dignitaries in the hall. He suspected that the
ones present yesterday but not today were either under arrest or en route back
to their native lands.
The perator raised hands against the applause and it died away. "Will the
pilot-heroes of the Empire and the New Republic please approach?"
Wedge put on his business face and led Tycho, Jan-son, and Hobbie
forward. To his right, the Imperial pilots had formed up in similar military
precision. The crowd parted before them, and the two groups of pilots came to
a halt at almost exactly the same moment, three meters from the perator.
The ruler beamed at them. "You eight pilots have brought considerable
delight and knowledge to Adumar, but it has all been in circumstances somewhat
different than those that brought you fame. I would now like to rectify that.
Would youand it would please us greatly if you wouldlead units of the
Cartann armed forces in action against our enemies, so that we might grasp the
full measure of your skill and honor?"
Turr Phennir was first to speak, his voice nearly as rich and warm as the
perator's. "It would be my tremendous honor to demonstrate what we have to
offer the people of Cartann and Adumar."
The perator smiled upon him, then turned to Wedge. "And our
representatives of the New Republic?"
Wedge cleared his throat. This was not going to be good. "We must
decline."
The ruler's expression became one of sorrow, regret. "But why? Can it be
that you care for us less than your Imperial counterparts?"
Wedge considered his words for a split second. "No, I suspect we care
more. But we must demonstrate it differently. In this case, with a refusal."
"I see." The perator nodded, his expression suggesting that he would
remain reasonable in the face of hurtful treachery. "Please withdraw."
Wedge and his pilots about-faced and made their retreat.
They passed Tomer going the other way. "That was your last chance to do
anything positive," Tomer said. "Now it's up to me to undo the damage you've
done." The diplomat hurried on to join the perator's retinue.
"So," Janson said. "What's it like to be an ex-diplomat?"
Wedge grinned. "I've been better."
"Think they'll escort us up to Allegiance, or just put us on the business
end of a planetary defense laser cannon and blast us up there?"
Tomer had made it to the perator's side. His eyes, his hand gestures, all
said that he was pleading with the ruler. The perator shook his head again and
again, then stopped to listen. But when Tomer finally turned away and left the
ruler's retinue, his expression was downcast.
"General Antilles!" the perator called. "No, do not step forward. I do
not wish you to be any closer to me than you already are."
Wedge stood, waiting, ignoring the rebuke implicit in the ruler's tone.
"I declare you to be an enemy of the state of Cartann," the perator said.
"But I am told by Lord Tomer Darpen that it might cost Cartann friendships to
have you executed as you deserve."
Hobbie murmured, "This has just gotten a lot worse."
"So I declare you and your pilots exiles. Remove yourself from Cartann,
by gauntlet to Giltella Air Base, and never show yourselves before me again."
Wordlessly, Wedge turned away from the perator and headed toward the
chamber's exit. He felt blood draining from his head. The weight of his
failure as a diplomat, anticipated for so long, was finally on him. The moment
of failure did not feel good. In fact, he couldn't remember feeling worse in
recent times.
Yes he could. It was worse when he became certain, for those brief
moments, that he had lost Iella forever. He'd survived that and overcome it.
He'd get through this.
Tomer, walking quickly, reached his side. "You're in trouble."
"I thought my troubles were over."
"No. You'll probably be dead before you get to your Blades."
Wedge stopped. "Blades? We're returning to our X-wings."
Tomer shook his head. "They're being impounded."
"Impound"
"Even as we speak. They'll be gone from your balcony before you can get
back, hauled off like cargo. You need to be thinking about the gauntlet if
you're to survive."
Wedge took a look around. No members of the crowd stood nearer than half
a dozen meters. Most regarded him with expressions of sympathyor sudden
revulsion. It matched what he was feeling at the thought of the Adumari
touching his X-wings, at the realization that he needed answers from this man
he wanted so desperately to punch. "All right. What does 'gauntlet to the air
base' mean?"
"It means you have to get to Giltella Air Base by whatever means you can
manage. They'll have four spaceworthy Blades ready for you. If you can get up
to the Allegiance in them, past the Blades that are sure to be gunning for you
up in the air, you get to live. But" Tomer shrugged, helpless"anyone can
kill you, Wedge. It's legal. From the door out of the perator's palace to the
Allegiance, you're all fair game."
"Which means," Hobbie said, "the longer we wait, the more forces they can
organize to bring to bear against us."
Tomer nodded. "Yes. In theory, you could also use the time to communicate
with your friends and array them against your enemies. But you have no friends
on-planet to aid you." He looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. The perator was in
such a towering rage. He would have had you killed outright if I hadn't"
"We'll discuss your contribution to this whole mess later," Wedge said.
He felt very cold inside, cold with anger at Tomer and the perator and Adumar
in general, cold with the realization that the gauntlet he was about to face
was likely to kill him long before he was able to employ his most useful
skills.
He turned back to the crowd and raised his voice. "Who'll offer
blastswords to four doomed men?"
For long moments, no one moved.
Then a dignitary from a nati on that had fallen in line with Cartann came
forward, a slender man in a gold tunic, and wordlessly offered his sword belt
and sheathed blastsword to Wedge. A pilot Red Flight had flown against came to
put another in Tycho's hands. A woman, a minister by her age and dress,
demanded the swords of her two guards and brought them forward to offer them
to Hobbie and Janson. Wedge thanked each of them.
He saw Iella approaching, a surreptitious route that kept her toward the
back of the crowd; he caught her eye and gave her a little shake of the head.
She understood and stopped where she was. Nothing she could give him here
would do him much good... and she could blow her cover, doing herself
considerable harm. Wedge merely hoped Tomer hadn't caught their little
exchange.
At the doorway, they reclaimed their blaster pistols. Moments later, they
stood arrayed at the exit from the perator's palace, steps down to the
courtyard and main gates beyond, while an expectant crowd gathered behind
them... and another crowd, expectant for another reason, gathered out in the
courtyard. Seeing the distinctive New Republic uniforms waiting within the
doorway, the courtyard crowd shouted for the pilots to come out.
"We have to get clear of pursuit and out of sight for a few minutes,"
Wedge said. "But we're not going to play their game." He pulled out his
comlink and activated it. "Gate, relay this message up to Allegiance." He
heard his astromech's answering whistle, and continued, "General Antilles to
Allegiance. Requesting emergency evacuation from planetary surface."
There was no answer.
"Antilles to Allegiance, come in."
Nothing.
Wedge turned worried eyes to the other pilots. "All right. So I was
wrong. We've somehow been countered. We're going to do it their way." He
checked the charge on his blaster and the others followed suit with theirs.
"Your orders," he said.
"Ready," Tycho said.
"Whatever they expect us to do, we don't do. Four, what do they expect us
to do?"
Hobbie said, "Run out toward the gate and get shot."
"Correct. So we don't." Wedge scanned the courtyard. He saw gathered men
and women, three dozen or more of them, waiting for them to emerge. He saw
parked wheeled transportsand one repulsorlift transport against the wall,
scores of meters to the left of the gate. He nodded in its direction. "That
one's our target," he said. "Go."
They moved out and onto the stairs at a trot. As soon as men and women in
the crowd raised blasters, Wedge and company opened fire and broke left,
circling around the edge of the waiting crowd.
Incoming fire looked like srormtrooper new-recruit target practice,
filling the air, inaccurate, but promising eventual deadly hits through sheer
volume.
That wasn't to be. Janson lagged behind and shot precisely, using his
sights and the native skill with blasters that had been his since childhood.
When the leading edge of shooters began collapsing, firer after firer
taking Janson's blaster shots in face and chest and gut, the line wavered.
Some of the shooters dove for coverthe only cover being provided by the
bodies of their fellows. Others redoubled their efforts, firing faster and
with even less accuracy.
Wedge, halfway across the courtyard, felt heat against the back of his
neck and tensed himself against pain to followbut there was no pain, just the
sensation of superheated air from a near miss by a blaster bolt. He fired as
he ran, his shots nowhere near as accurate as Janson's, but just as
intimidating; the line of shooters did not surge toward him.
And then the repulsorlift transport was before him, hanging in the air.
He hurtled over the rear, skidding forward toward the control mechanism, and
leaned over the front to shoot the line tethering the craft to the wall. He
felt the impact of Tycho landing in the bed behind him, more impacts of
blaster shots hitting the vehicle's side.
Kneeling behind the control board to get as much cover as possible from
the low lip at the edges of the vehicle, Wedge powered up its steering
mechanism. "Call 'em as they come aboard," he said.
Tycho lay on his stomach at the transport's starboard side, his pistol
braced against the lip. He fired once, twice, three times, and Wedge heard a
shriek from the crowd of shooters. There was another thump, and Tycho said,
"Four's aboard."
"Where's Three?"
"Thirty meters back."
"We'll pick him up." Wedge put the ungainly vehicle in reverse. It glided
backward with frustrating slowness. Wedge reduced the repulsorlift power on
the port side, increased it on starboard, so it tilted to port; this made it
harder to control, but the vehicle's underside offered him and his pilots a
little additional cover.
The vehicle shook again, harder than before, and Tycho announced,
"Three's aboard."
Wedge glanced at his men. "Anyone hit?"
They shook their heads, not looking at him, concentrating on pouring
blaster fire off the starboard side.
Wedge increased all repulsorlifts to full power. The transport soared
upward
To an altitude of four meters. Half the height of the walls of the
perator's complex. There was no way he could fly over the walls.
"We're going out by the gate," he announced. "Brace yourselves, pilots."
He put the transport into forward motion, steering straight toward the crowd
of shooters and the gate beyond.
The air was thick with the smell of blaster bolts, and thick with the
bolts themselves. Only the shooters at the farthest edges of the crowd could
get a good look at any of the men on the transport, and therefore get a decent
shot at them; the others could see only the transport's underside.
Tycho uttered a yelp and stood as the metal under his stomach
superheated. All over the transport, the flooring began to glow. In two spots,
it gave way entirely and blaster bolts shot through, toward the sky. Wedge
shifted his body as the flooring beneath him began to glow.
B
ut meter by meter they approached the gates and began outrunning the
shooters in the courtyard. A thin screen of attackers with blasters was lined
up at the gate, and they poured fire up at the bottom of the transport as
Wedge crossed overhead; he saw one blaster shot, reduced in strength, emerge
to slice across Hobbie's hip. He hissed, leaned over the rail, took three
quick shots in the direction of the screen of attackers.
Then they were past, floating at a good clip above a street heavy with
pedestrian and transport traffic, pursuers trailing out behind them and losing
ground
The repulsorlift transport's engine coughed and the vehicle immediately
lost speed. The pursuers began to gain ground on them, even while rushing
across lanes of heavy traffic.
Hobbie, stanching his hip wound with a pocket torn from his jacket,
offered up a bitter smile. "It just doesn't get better, does it?"
Tycho popped the metal plate over the transport's engine. "Shot," he
announced. "Both ways. Blaster fire has ruined it."
"Right," Wedge said. "Janson, what do they expect us to do?"
"Set down and run on foot, or hop another transport. A wheeled one, since
there are no floaters in sight." Janson, keeping low, leaned over the rear of
the transport and fired off several shots at their pursuers. Wedge saw two men
fall. One of them was immediately run over by a wheeled transport, its driver
unable to swerve far enough aside in time.
"So we do something else," Wedge said. He aimed the dying transport
toward the building opposite the palace gatesa tall residential building, its
balconies deep, many furnished with elaborate tables or reclining furniture.
As they neared the building, Wedge could see the flatscreens on its
exterior at ground level. All showed an identical imagethe rear of Wedge's
transport, from a distance of forty or fifty meters, on its approach toward
the building. He offered up a growl. A flatcam was broadcasting their escape
and it was probably up on walls and personal flatscreens all over Cartann.
People at the base of the building he approached recognized the scene, turned,
pointed up at their transportand some unsheathed blaster pistols and began
firing.
"Hobbie, suppression fire to starboard. Tycho, to port. Janson, keep it
up off the stern." Then Wedge saw that their transport, even at maximum
Star Wars - X-Wing - Starfighters of Adumar Page 19