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
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