joining the New Republic military were very likely to have their perspectives
broadened by what they experienced out in the galaxy. Wedge could already see
this happening with the pilots he flew simulated duels against.
So that answered the second question. Bringing Adumar into the New
Republic would do no harm, and would offer the potential for increased proton
torpedo production.
Which left the first question. If the way to bring Adumar in involved
some of these duelslive-fire, not simulatedcould Wedge do it?
Wedge wrestled with that one. He decided that other questions remained
unanswered, questions critical to this whole mission What were the conditions
of victory? What exactly needed to be done to convince the perator of Cartann
to side with the New Republic?
Tomer had hinted that it was a popularity contest. Wedge and Turr Phennir
were struggling to achieve as much popularity with the people of Adumar as
they could. Whenever the perator got around to making his decision, whichever
pilot was most popular would give his side an edgeperhaps the decisive edge.
But agreeing to those terms, implicitly or explicitly, made all eight
pilots, New Republic and Empire, toys of these death-loving Adumari. They had
to keep killing and, perhaps, dyinguntil the Adumari tired of the game and
got around to their decision.
If Wedge could bring it down to a specific duel or event, for example a
one-on-one with Turr Phennir, whose outcome unquestionably determined Adumar's
choice, then he'd participate. That would be a military action against a clear
enemy, with a clear result. It was this preposterous notion of building public
acclaim until someone arbitrarily decided that the contest was done that
galled him.
Final question If General Cracken supported the local Intelligence
head's orders, mandating that Wedge begin the slaughter of Adumari pilot-
duelists, what would he do?
No matter how he thought his way around the problem, the answer always
came back To do this would be to dishonor myself and my uniform. I would
refuse those orders.
With that finally cam e another thought Which means I would have to face
court-martial or resign my commission.
Wedge suddenly found himself short of breath.
It wasn't the thought of losing his rank that hit him; it was the
realization that leaving the military would be the same as abandoning what
little remained of his life.
His home system, Corellia, was closed to him; joining the Rebel Alliance
had put him on the enemies list of the Corellian Diktat, the ruler. His family
was gone, parents dead and sister missing for long years. Almost everyone he
knew was associated with the New Republic military, and the few long-time
friends who weren't, such as Mirax Terrik, had busy lives that intersected his
only infrequently. If he resigned, most of these people would disappear
completely from his life, leaving him as alone as a pilot who ejected into
space with no hope of rescue.
The bleakness of that vision settled as a chill upon him. It was all the
more frightening because he knew that even in the face of what it would cost
him, he would have to refuse orders insisting that he do things Tomer's way.
If he didn't, he might as well be Turr Phennir, flying for the Empire.
Had a decision like that cost him the friendship of Iella Wessiri? Had
the moment come and gone without him noticing? He didn't know. But on the eve
of perhaps losing what was left of his life, he resolved to see her and find
out.
"Yes, another. And this time, a bit stronger."
It wasn't the words that attracted Wedge's attention, but the accent the
clipped, precise tones of Coruscant, or of a dozen worlds that emulated the
former Imperial throne world.
Within a nearby booth, its flap held open for the mo - ment by a
bartender, was a man in dark, somber Adumari dress. His body could not be seen
within the folds of his voluminous black cloak, but he was of only average
height, and his face suggested that he was lean. His hair was gray, his
features sharp and suggesting intelligence.
Wedge knew that face. When the bartender hurried off to fetch the man's
drink and let the flap fall back into place, Wedge rose and set a few coins on
opposite the man.
The gray-headed man offered him a cool smile. "I have a blaster trained
on you," he said. "Perhaps you'd better leave."
"You'd do the Empire a big favor by pulling the trigger," Wedge said.
"Admiral Rogriss."
The man frowned. The gesture was a bit exaggerated, as though he were
more drunk than he looked. "I know that voice, don't I? I certainly know the
accent. Is it you, Antilles?"
Wedge raised his mask.
Rogriss brought his pistol up and then set it on the tabletop. "I'd never
shoot you," he said, "not even for the bounty on your head. I want to see how
you get out of this mess you're in. Or, more likely, how you fail."
At close range, Wedge could offer the man a closer inspection.
They'd never met in person, but Wedge had seen his face on recorded
transmissions. Five years ago, Admiral Teren Rogriss had surreptitiously aided
the Han Solo task force pursuing the Warlord Zsinj. As Han Solo's opposite
number, chief of the Imperial task force hunting Zsinj, Rogriss had risked
charges of treason by cooperating with the New Republic, commanding an
Interdictor-class cruiser in collaboration with Solo's task force. Later, he'd
led the Imperial effort to to win back territories left disorganized by
Zsinj's death.
Today, Rogriss seemed little changed, though a bit of the fire and
animation Wedge remembered from the recordings seemed to be gone. Perhaps it
was the effect of alcohol. "What's a much-decorated fleet commander doing on a
backwater mission like this?" Wedge asked.
Rogriss offered him a half smile. "Fleet commander no more, General.
Battling with Warlord Teradoc and your Admiral Ackbar for Zsinj's leavings, I
fared rather poorly. I'm sure you heard."
"I did. But that happens a lot to Ackbar's opponents."
Rogriss shrugged. "I cost your New Republic a lot in that struggle. I've
nothing to be ashamed of. And I remain an admiral, but with just one ship
under my command, the Agonizer."
"An Imperial Star Destroyer," Wedge said. So Rogriss's ship had to be the
counterpart of the Allegiance, orbiting Adumar opposite the New Republic ship.
"That's still prestigious."
"Says the man who normally conducts business from the bridge of a Super
Star Destroyer."
"Admiral, have you ever wondered why the Emperor gave such nasty names to
his Star Destroyers? Executor, Agonizer, Iron Fist, Venom?"
"I've heard every schoolboy theory ever proposed on that matter."
"This one comes from Luke Skywalker"
"Having exhausted the schoolboys, we now turn to the farmboys? How
charming."
"who has a certain perspective on the matter the rest of us don't. He
thinks it all has to do with corruption
, with the seduction of the not-too-
unwilling."
Rogriss gestured for him to keep speaking, but his expression suggested
that he'd heard it all before. The bartender brought Rogriss his drink, and
Wedge waited until the man departed before continuing.
"Put a man or woman in a situation where the actions he's obliged to
take, such as serving Emperor Palpatine, are a certain path to personal
corruption. Fill his ears with words saying that his actions are honorable
ones. But surround him with constant reminders of the wrongness of what he's
doing. Our victim will cling to the words but will, at some level, always be
aware of the wrongnesshe can't escape it. The symbols, such as the names of
ships he commands, won't let him forget. He's always aware of his descent, of
his slow transference to the dark side. Skywalker thinks the Emperor found
this knowing acceptance of corruption, this half-accepting, half-struggling
process, particularly delicious."
Rogriss pointed his finger at Wedge as though it were a loaded blaster.
"You Rebels remain so very self-righteous," he said. "Always speaking of
honor, as though you invented the concept. I've spent my whole life in
honorable conflict. I've conquered worlds to bring civilization to them
literacy and medicine and sanitation and discipline. I've fought the forces of
chaos to keep galactic civilization from flying apart. I've had only a few
weeks of each year to spend with my own children. I've made all these
sacrifices... only to be lectured about honor by someone a generation younger
than I am. That's reward for you."
"You're not drinking here, alone, anonymous, because you like the
company. Or because you like the local brew, I'll bet. You're here wrestling
with a question of honor, aren't you?" Wedge was speculating madly, but the
fact that honor seemed to be such a sore point with Rogriss made his wild shot
more likely to strike home.
"What about you?"
"I was," Wedge admitted. "I solved it. And you?"
Rogriss drew himself up stiffly. The action, made a little unsteady by
the amount of alcohol he'd had to drink, was perhaps not as dignified as he'd
hoped. "Where duty is clear, there is no question about honor."
Wedge laughed. "I wish that were so. Well, I'll leave you to keep
wrestling. Best of luck, Admiral." he rose and departed.
Out on the street, he went to considerable effort to make sure that no
one followed himthat no aide of Rogriss's meant to do him harm. But he saw no
shadows pacing his and could finally relax on his way to his quarters.
7
An hour later, Wedge and Janson were in their flight suits, sitting in a
small conference office on the Allegiance, with steaming cups of caf on the
table beside them, datapads open, and scrolling data before them. "So my
question is," Janson said, "why me? Why didn't you bring Tycho up with you?
He's your wingman. And he's better with records."
"I need someone to be in charge on the ground when I'm up here. For
example, if there's a diplomatic emergency."
"I can be in charge on the ground."
"Oh, that'd be good. You and Hobbie running through the streets of
Cartann, leaving destruction in your wake, taking charge when a delicate
political disaster strikes. Here's an example. A noble of Cartann comes to you
and says, 'I know we have no diplomatic relations yet, but I'm here to request
asylum in the New Republic.' What do you say?"
"Is she good-looking?"
"Thanks for making my point." Wedge gestured at Janson's datapad. "What
have you got on Rogriss?"
Janson sighed and returned his attention to the screen. "Wife dead. Two
children surviving. Daughter Asori, twenty-eight, status unknown, which could
mean anything. Son Terek, twenty-four, in the Imperial Navy." He shrugged.
"Nothing helpful. You?"
"Maybe." Wedge shook his head over Admiral Rogriss's career recordwhat
of it was known to the New Republic, anyway. "His postingsafter he was of
sufficient rank to have an influence on themseem to be awfully unambiguous."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning most of them have been duties where he fights the New Republic.
What's interesting is where his name doesn't show up. There's no known
association with any operations like the Death Star, or governorship of
nonhuman-populated worlds, or projects we later found out are associated with
Imperial Intelligence, anything like that."
"You're talking about Rogriss?" That was Captain Salaban, entering the
conference room with a tray of pastries. He set it down in the center of the
ta ble and took the third chair, then put his booted feet up on the tabletop.
"That's right," Wedge said. "What's the opinion of him in Fleet?"
"Wily old so-and-so," Salaban said. "Loves strategy and tactics for their
own sake. An intellectual. Doesn't much like to stick around for a slugging
match."
"We noticed that in the Zsinj hunt," Wedge said. "We're trying to figure
out what his commanders might have recently called on him to do that it would
send him to some shadowy bar to get seriously drunk. To get belligerent on the
subject of honor."
Salaban, chewing on a pastry, shrugged. "Coo bee anyfing," he said, then
swallowed. " 'Scuse me. Pound the surface of Adumar flat if they don't side
with the Em - pire? If the Allegiance weren't here to keep him in check, he
could do that. Eventually and with tremendous losses." Janson shook his head.
"That'd be a fair fight. He'd enjoy preparing for that, coming up with tactics
to swing the battle his way. That wouldn't offend his sense of honor."
Salaban nodded. "Well, he is coming up with some sort of tactics, just as
I am. There's going to be a fight here. Allegiance against Agonizer."
Wedge gave him a curious look. "How do you figure?"
"Well, it's like this. The Empire can't afford for Adumar to fall into
New Republic hands. They know as well as we do what it means to us to have
that explosives production. So if we, I mean you, win over the Adumari and
they decide to sign on with us, it's a certainty that the Imps will break
their word. They'll call in additional ships and attack both the Adumari and
the Allegiance, and we are in for one serious furball."
Wedge and Janson exchanged a glance. Wedge said, "Wait, scan backward a
little bit. What 'word' will the Imps break?"
"That wasoh, that's right, you were already on the ground for that
little ceremony, weren't you?"
"I suppose so."
Salaban put on an expression of annoyance. "Shortly after our arrival in-
systemafter you notified us that the Imps were here and we confirmed
Agonizer's presence a representative of the Cartann government visited. He
said that in order to ensure the honorable continuance of these negotiations,
the government would have to offer its words of honor that if Adumar decided
for the Empire, we'd leave system within the hour and not return except under
'formal banners of truce or war.' "
"And did they get these assurances?"
Salaban nodded and speculatively eyed another pastry. "Took a day or so,
but
they got a formal transmission from the Chief of State's office. Not from
Organa
Solo herself; scuttlebutt has it she's on a diplomatic mission too, to
the Meridian sector. Anyway, the Adumari were supposed to notify us if they
failed to get the equivalent word from the Empire, and they haven't notified
us, so I assume it's two-way. I just expect the Empire not to honor their
agreement."
"That's it," Wedge said. "Probably. Like you, Rogriss is at the center of
that word of honor. And he expects the Empire not to stand by it. But his
personal impulse is to do what he's sworn to do, or at least what he's had to
maintain to Adumar that the Empire has sworn to do."
"Well, it begs a question." Salaban stared at a second pastry, sighed to
indicate his surrender, and picked it up. "Which is this So what? We have one
more promise about to be broken. If my opposite number is honorable enough to
feel some shreds of guilt as he breaks it, so what?" He bit into the pastry as
fiercely as if taking a chunk out of his Imperial counterpart.
"It's a fluctuation gap in their shields," Wedge said. "A weakness the
Imps may not be aware of in their plan to take Adumar. It's not even relevant
if the Adumari side with the Empire in the first place. But if they don't,
it's something I might be able to use. I also ought to forward these little
notions to General Cracken, and some questions I have about how much the Chief
of State knows about policy on this operation. Set me up for a holocomm
transmission, would you?"
Salaban shook his head. "Caw bappoug. Awm assageg"
"Chew your food, Captain."
Janson grinned. "These kids."
Salaban swallow his mouthful. "We're in a comm blackout. All messages
have to be cleared through the local Intelligence head before being sent on.
Record what you want and I'll put it through his office for review."
Wedge kept his smile on his face, though his mood had just gone dark
again. "Never mind. Some other time." He rose. "Come on, Wes, back to Cartann.
Thanks, Captain."
"Anytime."
Janson snagged a handful of pastries. "Can't let Salaban have all these.
They'll kill him."
In the corridor, Wedge said, "When you found out Iella's Cartann
identity, did you get her address?"
Janson nodded. "Her name, address, everything."